


We Are What We Are

by EventHorizon



Series: Lets You Know You're Alive [4]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cabinlock, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 185,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With trials, tribulations and tragedy darkening their pasts and clouding their futures, how do the boys from London and Fitton find health, happiness and hanging baskets filled with fluffy kittens (that one's mainly for Arthur)...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story picks up from the end of The Other Side of the Mirror, part 2 of this series. If you're new to the series, starting at the beginning with Take Them Where You Find Them is HIGHLY recommended. Very highly recommended...

      “John, you have… you have to do something.”

The panic in Mycroft’s voice was a perfect match for what John was experiencing, watching his friend begin to slip away from them.

      “Doctor Watson!  You have to help Greg!”

      “John, is there anything I can do?”

      “John!  Don’t just squat there.  Assist Lestrade!”

      WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?”

John rubbed his eyes took a deep breath before speaking again.

      “He’s bleeding internally.  I’ve got to get him on an operating table and I need to do it fast.  Look… Martin, are they sending out an ambulance?”

      “Um, yes… fire truck and ambulance.”

      “Ok, then someone… can we get off this plane?”

      “Yeah, we’re fine for that.  I think.”

      “Then someone get down there and tell them we’ve got a patient that needs a hospital immediately.”

      “I’ll do it!  I’ll make them come up here and help as fast as they can and not waste one second.”

      “Good lad, Arthur.  Martin, I presume you’ll have to stay and deal with whoever it is you deal with for this sort of thing?”

      “Probably, for awhile, at least.”

      “Ok… Mycroft, why don’t you stay with Martin and help smooth things…”

      “I shall stay with Martin, John.  Mycroft most likely would be better utilized going with you.”

      “I…fine.  Good idea.  Arthur?  Are you still here?”

      “I was waiting for you to say ‘go.’”

      “Then everybody _go_.”

Arthur jumped and raced for the door, Martin dashed back to the cockpit, with Sherlock on his heels and Mycroft… Mycroft sat watching and completely at a loss as to what to do.

      “Sounds like they’re almost here, so Greg’ll be on his way soon.  It… It’ll be alright, Mycroft”

      “Will it?  He didn’t want to be moved.  Gregory was fearful something like this would happen.”

A thought that had been plaguing John since he saw his friend’s rapidly paling face.

      “I know.  And I know it was my idea and that I helped convince him to go ahead with it.  Believe me, I have not forgotten about that at all.”

      “Tell me what to do, John.  Whatever you need, regardless of cost…”

      “I just need an operating theater.  And… yeah, hold on.  Grab my mobile out of my jacket.”

Mycroft leaned across and pulled out John’s phone passing it over to the anxious doctor.

      “Just one minute…. come on… Yes!  Sam, it’s John.  I know, but you’ve gotta shut up listen to me right now.  I need your help… no, your medical help… patient with recent gunshot trauma suffering internal bleeding from, well, a fucking horror of a plane landing… we should be en route shortly… it’s my friend, Greg… I know, but I tossed that piece of wisdom out when he got shot, so this isn’t exactly new for us… god, thank you... that won’t be a problem… _nothing_ is going to be a problem, don’t worry… that’ll help, thanks… ok… see you soon.”

      “And the purpose of that was?”

      “Sam Harris is a mate of mine.  Did his own stint patching up soldiers and he’s the best man I know for this sort of thing. Makes me look like I got my license yesterday.  I want him in on this.”

      “Thank you for that, John.  We cannot lose Gregory a second time.  I simply cannot allow that.”

Mycroft was also certain he could not _survive_ that.

      “I promise you he’ll get the best possible chance.  Sam’s the type that doesn’t stop trying until they’re cold on the table.  Believe me, this _is_ Greg’s best chance.”

Mycroft nodded and raged inside that, at this moment, there was nothing he could do to give his Gregory an even better chance.  For all of his power, not a sliver of it was of any use.  Fortunately, for both his and John’s mental states, the sirens came to a halt and the only sound in the air was Arthur’s enthusiastic shouting for the medical crew.  It was only a few more minutes until there many hands on Lestrade’s body, securing him and taking him off of the plane, leaving Arthur dithering  next to Mycroft while they watched the action.

      “He’ll be ok, won’t he, Mycroft?”

      “John has already taken steps to assure that very thing.  I believe I shall take transport this time with John and Gregory, but I need you to remain and bring Sherlock and Martin up to date with our destination.  They shall also, I am very sure, appreciate your natural talents for bringing people ease in times of trouble.”

      “Oh!  Oh… ok.  No really, that’s good, because I’ve seen the inside of an ambulance and we wouldn’t all fit, so this way you can be with Greg and I can be with Skip because… oh, I just know Skip is going to be very upset.  Very, very his face goes the color of his hair upset.  And Mr. Sherlock!  He loves Greg and this has to be very difficult for him.  Yes, it’s best I stay with them right now, but we’ll be with you as soon as we possibly can.”

      “Excellent.  And thank you, my boy.  It is quite a relief to know that you will be in charge of things on this end.”

      “Thanks Mycroft!  You can count on me.  Now, you’d better hurry or they’ll leave without you.”

Something that had just crossed Mycroft’s mind.

      “Until later.  I will phone if I have news.”

With that, the elder Holmes hurried to catch up with the rest of the party bound for the hospital, leaving Arthur to gather his strength and prepare to take command of the plane and its remaining inhabitants.  Who he was not surprised to hear arguing when he opened the flight deck door.

      “You cannot be certain of that, Martin.  We must consider the possibility of sabotage.”

      “Sabotage!  What!  Someone _wanted_ hurt Greg!  No!  Who would want to do something as horrible as that?  Well, besides that awful Edgar.”

      “Not Lestrade, Arthur.  Well, not necessarily Lestrade.  It is far more likely that Mycroft would be the target.”

      “What!  Why would you say that, Mr. Sherlock?  Who would possibly want to hurt Mycroft?  He is the nicest man in the world!”

Sherlock and Martin looked at each other in silent and very grudging agreement that Arthur should not be allowed to lose that optimism, no matter how ridiculous it actually was in Mycroft’s case.

      “Arthur, Mycroft’s an important man and important men often make enemies, even when they, themselves, are very nice.  And people get jealous of how important they are, too.  But, no one is actually saying it’s sabotage, as I have been trying to tell Sherlock.”

      “But we cannot discount the possibility and if there is an investigation, I demand to be party to it!”

      “This isn’t a crime scene!”

      “Yet!”

      “Skip… Mr. Sherlock…”

      “If you force my hand, I _will_ engage Mycroft’s assistance in this.”

      “Until we know more, this is pointless.  Stop looking for trouble when I’ve… we’ve… got enough already.”

Sherlock scrutinized his cousin and propped open the flight deck door with his hand.

      “Arthur… leave us.”

      “Wait… why?”

      “Because we could use a refreshment before we are descended upon by the bureaucracy.”

      “Oh!  Yes… I’ll get right on that.  One little snack coming right up.”

Arthur gave Martin a kiss on his cheek and hurried away, not picking up on the gleam in his fiancé’s eyes that was directed at the tall man staring back at him with as much intensity.

      “What?”

      “You feel guilt over this situation.”

      “Who wouldn’t?  Well, besides you.”

      “This is in no way your fault, Martin.  I accompanied you on your tour of this aircraft before takeoff and you were very thorough with your inspection.  Would it even have been possible for you to observe a problem with the landing gear?”

      “Maybe.  Maybe not.”

      “I shall argue for the ‘maybe not’ because I did not notice anything untoward and the basic mechanics of the machinery you examined appeared quite functional.  Do not take on the burden of this incident, Martin.  It is unwarranted.”

      “You can’t know that, Sherlock.”

      “If there is a choice between my analysis of a situation and yours, you would be idiotic to choose yours as the winning option.  And… you did a credible job of managing the aircraft once we were on the ground.”

      “You think so?”

      “The aircraft is in one piece and we are alive, Lestrade’s special circumstances notwithstanding… I believe that is the intended outcome of any plane at the end of its journey.”

      “No matter what our so-called outcome may be, Carolyn’s going to kill me.  For killing GERTI and nearly killing Arthur.”

      “I do believe nothing in Arthur’s behavior suggests he is near death and by the time you depart again for Fitton, I suspect no indication of any landing difficulties will be visible on your aircraft.”

      “You think Mycroft’s going to have it fixed.”

      “No, I _know_ Mycroft will attend to the repairs.  He recognizes the value of your craft to Arthur and, therefore, will erase any damage today might have inflicted upon it.”

      “You’re probably right.  Yet one more thing for which I have to owe him.”

      “You owe him nothing, because you have not asked for anything.  What he gives of his own free will, for whatever purpose, is not something you must repay.”

      “Oh and you would know this how?  It’s not like you’ve accepted anything from him in… oh, I think ever in your entire life.”

      “Do not speak so confidently about things which you do not know, Martin.  I _have_ had to rely on my brother on the rare occasion.  And… for occasions that I apparently do not recall in their entirety.”

Martin wanted to tell Sherlock he was full of a particularly nasty form of crap, but the look on his cousin’s face said that this time he actually wasn’t.

      “Well, none of that’s my top concern right now.  The only thing I really care about is keeping Arthur righted.  I… how can I keep him safe and happy, Sherlock?  I couldn’t do it before and now… if something happens to Greg, I have no idea what I’ll do…”

      “Arthur has a far greater degree of inner strength than you credit him.  If… not that anything _will_ happen… but if a saddening event were to occur, Arthur would grieve terribly, but it would not destroy him.”

      “I don’t want him to ever suffer because of me or anything… caused by me.”

      “And we find ourselves back at the beginning of this conversation.  You caused nothing, you are responsible for nothing… and Arthur would agree with me.  Ah, I believe I hear him fumbling with the door latch.  Shall we ask him?”

Martin glared up at his cousin, trying desperately to ignore the fact that Sherlock’s absolution was actually making him feel a great deal better.

      “Ask me what?  Here, I’ve got you each a sandwich and some juice and I told that rather frowny man with the clipboard and radio that he couldn’t talk to you until you had your snack.  He tried to get around me, but I gave him a rather stern talking-to and blocked the aisle so he couldn’t pass.  He’s having some tea right now, but I don’t think you should make him too long, because when he’s done he’ll probably just try to get past me again and I’d hate to have _another_ little talk, which would certainly would make both of us rather a bit unhappy.”

      “We’ll… you can tell the nice… frowny… man we’ll be out in a minute.   And thank you for the snack, love.”

      “You’re welcome!  And don’t worry about a single thing.  I’ll go sit and keep him company and maybe we can play a game or listen to songs on my phone if you want to take a little extra time to talk to Mr. Sherlock.”

Arthur gave Martin another kiss on his cheek and, after hesitating a second, gave one to a very shocked Sherlock, before going back to entertain their guest.

      “As I was saying…”

      “I get it Sherlock.  I think I actually get it.”

      “Good.  Now eat these, then deal with the bothersome official.”

      “Eat your own sandwich.”

      “This is ham and jam, Martin.  Even without the rhyme, I would decline.”

      “But I’m sure Arthur thought his rhyming combination was simply made in heaven.”

      “And let’s not let him know otherwise.  Eat.”

__________

If Mycroft needed any further proof that his love for his Gregory was true and real, it could easily be taken from the fact that he had now sprinted at full speed twice in the span of a scant few months, which was twice more than he had ever done in his entire life.  And it was fortunate he did, since the ambulance doors were starting to close despite John’s very vocal protests.

      “Christ, Mycroft.  We nearly left you behind!”

      “I apologize, John.  I had… Arthur.”

John winced at the thought of what Arthur must be going through and just nodded his understanding.

      “Now, let’s just hope we don’t hit traffic.”

Mycroft smiled the first smile he’d been able to muster since their touch down.

      “Traffic?  What traffic?”

__________

John wondered if the streets of London had been this quiet during an air raid.  As the ambulance sped along, they encountered not a single car, all of which had been halted behind barricades and what John hoped was not a mobilization of military troops.  He felt almost embarrassed pulling into their destination, but that was quickly quashed as a last look at Lestrade’s vital signs screamed that if Mycroft hadn’t taken action, they would probably pulling up to the morgue door instead.  And a very welcome figure was standing there waiting.

The unloading went blessedly quickly and it was no longer than a few minutes before Lestrade was behind doors that Mycroft knew he could pass through, but still couldn’t bring him follow.  Instead, he turned his attention to watch as John spoke a moment with the man that had been waiting for the ambulance.  Tall and respectably aged, which pleased Mycroft to no end.  He absolutely wanted a man of experience tending to his Gregory’s care.  After a moment and a long look at Mycroft, the man followed after the gurney and John walked back to give the very worried Holmes an update.

      “He’s being prepped right now.  I have no idea how long it’s going to take, but I’ll try and keep you informed, ok?”

      “Thank you, John.  I shall notify the others.  Is there… do you have any idea…”

      “No.  I’m not going to speculate about what we’ll find when we open him up.  But, this is Greg we’re talking about.  He survived being shot twice, a little bleeding’s not going to faze him.”

      “He is already so weak.  How much can we really ask of him?”

      “Everything.  And he’ll give it.  Now… I’ll let you know.”

John quickly walked off to get himself ready for surgery, leaving Mycroft trying, and mostly succeeding in, taking a deep cleansing breath.  He had thought hospitals were a thing of their past.  Right now, his Detective Inspector should be seeing his new room and making numerous and ludicrous complaints and demands that would have Arthur laughing and John reminding everyone that his patient needed rest.  They should not be here.  They shouldn’t be in London was the likely truth.  Why couldn’t he have simply taken Gregory’s concerns more seriously?  Not that he hadn’t, but only for what they mean to his beloved, not for the possibility that they were _real_.   Was there ever to be a time his arrogance and idiocy wouldn’t put his dearest Gregory in jeopardy?

Mycroft thought a moment, then placed a call to Arthur, his current second-in-command.

      “Hi Mycroft!  How’s Greg?  Is he alright?  Did Doctor Watson fix him yet?  Is he awake?  When can I see him?”

There was a balm his soul had grown to crave and it flowed abundantly from the young man to whom he was speaking.

      “Gregory is currently in surgery; therefore, I have no news to impart at this time.  However, John is optimistic that he will be able to recover from this setback.”

      “Really?  He looked so pale, Mycroft.  And there was blood coming out of his mouth… just like last time.”

Arthur was too gentle a man to ever have to have such visions in his mind and it pained Mycroft terribly that he could not have spared Arthur this second trauma.

      “I am certain it is a matter of coincidence.  And I will provide you with any further information as soon as I acquire it.”

      “Brilliant!  Because I don’t think I’ll be able to wait and wait and wait… can I come to the hospital and wait with you?  That would make it much better.”

      “Of course you can.  Are Martin and Sherlock finished with their individual tasks?”

      “I’m not sure.  The man with the clipboard is still talking to Skip and Mr. Sherlock is with them.  I’m not sure what he’s actually doing but the clipboard man keeps looking over at him and then moving closer to Skip.  Which is a bit silly since Skip just moves away and closer to Mr. Sherlock and Mr. Sherlock moves away from Skip and back towards the clipboard man.  It’s like they’re doing a dance in a little circle like the kiddies do at school.”

      “Arthur, please hand the phone to the gentleman with the clipboard.”

      “Oh… ok.  Should I say goodbye?”

      “For the moment, but I shall see you soon.”

      “Alright then.  Bye, Mycroft!”

      “Goodbye, Arthur.  Consider the situation for your aircraft resolved.” 

Arthur tapped the airport official on the shoulder and handed over his mobile.  After a few moments, marked by increasing agitation and the dropping of his pencil, the man handed the mobile back to Arthur, bid Martin and Sherlock goodbye and hurried away like he was late for the birth of his first child.

      “And that will be the end of that.  Mycroft will have his own army of officials and investigators take care of the matter, whether by overt or covert means, and it will by much as if this incident never happened.  Arthur, in addition to his meddling, did my brother have anything useful to say about Lestrade’s situation?”

      “He said Greg’s in surgery and that I could come and wait with him.  But, he really didn’t know anything about what was wrong with Greg or if… or anything.”

      “Then how about you do that, love?  You and Sherlock can go and…”

      “We will _all_ join Mycroft and John.”

      “Sherlock, I need to stay with my plane.”

      “I would not be at all surprised if Mycroft’s functionaries are, at this very moment, arriving at this location to handle matters for him.  You will only be in their way.”

Sherlock punctuated his speech with minute glances towards Arthur, so many, in fact, that he worried his eyes might cease to function before Martin caught onto to his train of thought.

      “Oh…. oh!  You know, Sherlock… maybe you’re right.  We should all be there to support Greg and… I’m sure GERTI will be in good hands with Mycroft’s people.”

      “Hurray!”

Arthur dashed to one of the overhead compartments and started to take down his box of artwork.

      “I think we should, perhaps, leave that for the moment.  We have no knowledge of how long Lestrade will be again in a hospital room and it would perhaps be a wiser course of action to use your decorations to prepare his room in Mycroft’s home so it is ready to welcome him when he is finally able to make use of it.”

      “Oh, that’s a good idea.  But… hold on a moment… ok.  I’m ready.  I got Mycroft’s sketchbook and mine, too.  And I’ll need pencils… here Skip, put these in your pockets.  When I asked, Mycroft said he’d help me draw things so they look more like what they’re supposed to, so this might be a nice time to do that.  It’ll give us both something to do rather than… well, rather than sit and worry, which we’ll be doing anyway, but this way we can draw while we worry and that’ll be better than just sitting and worrying, which is just terrible.”

      “That sounds very… productive.  Now, if I am not mistaken, and I very rarely am, there is a car waiting for us.  Shall we go?”

      “Yes!”

Arthur grabbed Martin and pulled him towards the exit, ignoring the sputtering and yelping, leaving Sherlock alone for a moment to gather his own thoughts.  He never placed any faith in the concept of fairness, but he also could not shake the feeling that there was something fundamentally wrong about a man like Lestrade being forced to suffer tragedy after tragedy.  It was the same for John.  They were good men who had tragedy visited upon them by others and… deserved not one bit of it.  Sherlock gladly accepted responsibility for anything that had happened to him and he was very certain Mycroft merited full responsibility for his own troubles, but, in comparison, they had suffered little, whereas John and Lestrade had suffered greatly.  It made no sense, but then, little did when it came to people.  This time, however, Sherlock found himself unable to simply acknowledge the iniquity and move onto other thoughts.  It hurt.  It burned.  It suffocated.  It was _wrong_.

      “Mr. Sherlock?  Are you alright?”

Sherlock snapped out of his reverie and quickly made a show of gathering John’s jacket.

      “Of course.  I was simply deciding if there was anything John would need from our luggage.”

      “Oh!  That’s smart because I don’t know when we’ll get our things.  There are already people looking at GERTI, but when I asked them if they knew Mycroft they smiled, so they must be his friends, which is good because I know they’ll take good care of her and Skip won’t have to worry.  But this one lady said it could take awhile before we got the plane back so that’s why I came back to get my art box since I don’t want it put somewhere I can’t get to it and leave Greg without any pictures to look at in his new room.  Of course, I could and will make more, but the ones we already have are so nice that…’

      “Prudent planning… I applaud your skill at thinking ahead.  Here…”

Sherlock pulled down Arthur’s box of drawings and handed it over to the steward.

      “And, was I correct about the vehicle?”

      “Yes!  You were at that.  And Charles is driving!  He’s brilliant!”

What suddenly struck Sherlock was Arthur’s calm steadiness in light of their current crisis.  This was exactly the opposite of what he would have predicted for Arthur’s demeanor.

      “Excellent… Arthur, may I ask you a question?”

      “Didn’t you just do that?”

      “Ah.  Let me rephrase.  Arthur, may I ask you two questions, the first being whether or not I may ask a second?”

      “Yes!  I love being asked questions, even if it’s not a game and I can’t win any points.”

      “Very good.  My second question is that you appear tranquil, which I find unusual given the circumstances we are experiencing.”

      “Ummm… that’s not a question, so I’m not sure what to say.”

      “Perhaps the stress of the landing has muddied my ability to communicate.  Why are you so calm, given Lestrade is, again, clinging to a gossamer thread of life.”

      “Oh!  That’s easy.  I’m not.”

      “Not what?”

      “Calm.”

      “You appear calm.”

      “Brilliant!”

      “Why is that brilliant?”

      “Because it means I’m doing a good job.”

Though he knew they should be speeding along towards the hospital, Sherlock was completely unable to stop himself following the conversation to what would surely be an unexpected, yes strangely-logical conclusion.

      “Can you tell me what job it is at which you are excelling?”

      “Being in charge!  Mycroft said I was in charge while he was at the hospital and I’ve been watching him very closely.  Mycroft is always calm, well, except when he’s not, but that’s only for a little while and only when it’s something very big and he doesn’t actually have to give commands or anything.  But when he does, he’s very calm and tells people what to do nicely and that’s what I’ve been doing.  And it’s worked!”

      “Mycroft put you in charge.”

      “Well, it _was_ the best decision.  Skip might be the captain, but he doesn’t have quite the skill for understanding people that I do and that’s important for keeping everyone happy and steady and with their tea.  And you’re the world’s most brilliant detective, but I’m not sure you know much about planes, so that left me!  It isn’t a surprise, really.”

      “No, not a surprise at all, given in was Mycroft assigning duties.  That he did not relegate Martin and I to carrying your train is perhaps the only unusual aspect about it.”

      “Do I have a train?  I don’t remember packing one and I’m sure I’d remember if Mycroft got me a train because that would be amazing!  Trains are nearly as much fun as planes, and they’ve got a whistle!  But… I _am_ upset, Mr. Sherlock.  Every time I think about Greg, I get a feeling in my stomach like I’ve swallowed a very large rock with wings, because it’s very heavy and lumpy, but fluttery at the same time.  But, I’m keeping track and every time I feel that fluttery rock I add a “1” to my count and when Mycroft says I’m no longer in charge of you… well then, I’ll have a little moment and try to pull out all the rocks.”

Sherlock doubted there would ever come a day he would not be both vexed and impressed by Arthur Shappey.

      “The ability to subvert one’s own emotions for the greater good of those around them is the hallmark of a successful leader.”   

      “Does that mean I’m doing a good job?”

      “Yes.”

      “Hurray!”

      “Now, let us join Martin.  I would not be surprised if he is currently being an unwanted distraction for those attempting to rectify this situation and I would rather not have to rescue him from his bound-and-gagged confinement in the cargo hold.”

      “Yeah, he was being a bit antsy when I left.  And an antsy Skip sometimes means he needs to be sat upon in some way and I’d rather not have anyone do that to him anymore except for me.”

__________

      “Mycroft!”

      “Ah, Arthur.  It is good to see you.  And with your entourage.  How fitting.”

      “We had little choice but to follow our commander’s lead.”

Sherlock grudgingly agreed with Mycroft’s amused chuckle over Martin’s very indignant snort.

      “Well, one chooses the best man for the job, does one not, brother dear?  I take it, Martin, your aircraft is being tended to properly?”

      “If you mean invaded by an army of people who all smile when Arthur mentions your name, then yes.”

      “Excellent.  Rest assured that a full and accurate report will be filed with the proper authorities and that all damage will be repaired before you must return to Fitton.”

      “Mycroft… how’s Greg?”

Sherlock saw both Mycroft and Arthur’s calm of command snap for an instant and as quickly be reestablished.  Apparently, his brother had finally found his long-awaited apprentice, insomuch as Arthur could ever be molded into _anyone’s_ vision except his own.

      “I have yet to receive word as to his condition.  John has enlisted a colleague of his to assist with the surgery that he assures me is highly-qualified for these situations.  From initial findings, he does seem an appropriate choice.”

      “You are already spying on him.”

      “As I did the personnel in Fitton, Sherlock.   Do you believe me so lax as too place Gregory’s welfare in the hands of individuals for whom there is even a whiff of impropriety?”

      “Doctor Watson got one of his friends to help?  Brilliant!  Now I know Greg is going to be alright because Doctor Watson is a brilliant doctor and he wouldn’t be friends with a doctor if they weren’t brilliant, too.  That’s twice the brilliant!  I feel a little dance coming on.”

And a quick jig erupted in the middle of the waiting room before Arthur dropped into an empty chair and shook himself vigorously as if to fling all of the leftover dancing out of his body and force his muscles to relax.

      “I guess there’s nothing to do but wait, is there?”

      “Unfortunately, Martin, that is our only recourse at this time.  I shall have something brought for you to wear.  I would doubt you would wish to while away the hours in your uniform.”

      “I _wouldn’t_ doubt Martin even wears his uniform in bed.  Hat included.”

      “I can tell that you he doesn’t, Mr. Sherlock.  Well, not usually.  It’s only when we play…”

      “ARTHUR!”

      “What?  Oh… Skip, they don’t care that we play with the airplane games on my phone while snuggly under the covers.  And you _do_ like to wear your hat when we do that.”

Martin muttered something about finding water, and cyanide to go with it, before stalking away with his finger pointed at Sherlock the entire time.

      “Ah, the joys of family.”

      “You said it, Mycroft.  It’s the best!”

__________

      Mycroft wished he was better versed in medical matters so that he could assess whether the lack of news was a good or poor omen.  As the hours slipped past, the only reports he could squeeze from the terrified hospital staff was that the surgery was ongoing, which meant, at least, his Gregory still lived.  Arthur and Martin had curled together on a small sofa, looking through pictures on Arthur’s phone, before losing the last of their adrenaline and crashing into a very hard sleep.  Even Sherlock was hovering in that nebulous zone between awake and asleep, which for him, was somewhat equivalent to getting much needed rest.  And Mycroft was glad for it all.  Let them rest, he would stand guard.  It was what he did best; stand guard at the gates and battle to keep the darkness at bay.  You could never defeat it, but you could hold it back and it was the work of his lifetime to do just that.  Work he had done with great success.  Almost unfathomable success, if he could be allowed a moment of pride.  So why was it impossible for him to safeguard one single individual?  An individual that did not scorn his attempts, as did Sherlock, but _wanted_ to be well and whole and part of his life?  Was that the real price of loving someone – to have them be the one thing that showed you precisely the edges of your limits?

Mycroft felt his mind veering into very dark and very unhealthy places and it was more than a small blessing that John arrived at that moment, exhausted but smiling, to give news.  Close behind was John’s friend, of whom Mycroft most definitely wanted to gather information with his own senses.

      “John?”

      “Well, the bastard still refuses to let go of this vale of tears.”

      “He is well.”

      “I wouldn’t go that far, but we’ve got him stabilized.  The landing did a number on him… lots of my good work undone and he was leaking like a broken pipe, but barring another plane crash, I think he’ll live.  I’m not going to lie, though… this was a setback.  A big one.”

Mycroft listened with both great relief and an equally great dread.  What this would do to his Gregory’s state of mind did not bear contemplation.  As John spoke, Mycroft also kept an eye on John’s colleague, who, unabashedly, also kept an eye on him.  It was time to begin gathering information.

      “And you would concur, Doctor… I do apologize, I have forgotten your name.”

      “Unlikely from what I’ve heard about you, but we can play it that way if you want to.  Samuel Harris…”

Mycroft groaned inwardly… of course he had to be American.

      “… and yes, John summed it up pretty well.  He’ll have to deal with longer recovery and rehabilitation times, but no one’s saying they’re insurmountable.  It’ll be a lot to come back from, though.  I’d start searching for a good counselor for him because he’ll need to do a lot of talking to keep his head straight and on his shoulders.”

A thought that was never far from Mycroft’s own mind.

      “Now, you all…”

      “DOCTOR WATSON!  AND DOCTOR… DOCTOR!  HOW’S GREG!”

John couldn’t help but grin and motion Arthur to come talk to them.  For his part, Arthur was very glad his dream about John having news wasn’t really a dream and that he wasn’t yelling at people in his sleep.

      “Greg’s out of surgery and he made it through as well as we could have hoped.”

      “Is he awake?  Can I talk to him?”

      “Not quite yet.  He won’t be unconscious for as long this time, though, so you’ll get your chance soon.”

      “Hurray!  And… oh, you do look like a proper doctor, don’t you?  Not that Doctor Watson doesn’t, but he’s not got as much grey hair and isn’t as tall as the doctors you usually see on the telly.  But you do, so you must be super!”

      “And you must be Arthur.”

      “I am!  You’re very good at guessing games.  Got that one right away and without any clues at all.”

      “Oh, I had plenty of clues.  John talks about you all the time and he described you perfectly.  Good to meet you, kid.  You can call me Sam.”

      “Doctor Sam!  And you’re American, aren’t you?  Your name even sounds like it belongs to an American doctor.  I can’t wait to tell Mum I met an American doctor!”

      “Yeah, we’re an amazing breed and turn up in the strangest places.  Like London.”

      “Right!  That’s going to be my new game when we fly.  Find the American doctor and take a picture.  Then I’ll put them up on a map in my room!”

      “Well, here’s a tip.  Just stand in front of the local hospital or clinic and yell ‘It’s Miller time!’ and if there are any Americans in there, doctor or not, they’ll come running.”

      “Brilliant!  Just like with those things they use to call ducks!  Oh this is amazing… I knew Greg would be in good hands!”

Mycroft observed the exchange and noted that his brother and Martin were doing the same.  So far, proper respect had been paid to Arthur, so Mycroft’s alert status downgraded from red to vibrant orange.  And, though it was a completely superficial and easily manipulated factor, the man’s appearance and presentation were also helping to allay some of his concerns.  Arthur was quite right in that the man resembled the very stereotypical senior medical practitioner.  Hair going as silver as his beloved Gregory’s, with some hints of auburn still holding fast.  Tall, taller even than him, and absolutely straight-shouldered.  Slim, though solid of build and with admirable muscle development for a man his age.  It was the eyes, however, that struck Mycroft most sharply.  Gleaming.  Keen.  Fiercely intelligent and aware.  Kind, but not mild.  There was also humor… a rather large amount of humor, which balanced the sharper edges that Mycroft could also see lingering almost out of sight but ready to be called to action at a moment’s notice.  This was not a man to be ignored or underestimated.  John had chosen well.

      “Now, as I was saying, Mr. Lestrade…”

      “Greg.”

      “I can’t call him that, Arthur.  We haven’t been formally introduced.”

      “Oh!  That’s true.  And they say Americans aren’t polite.  Not that I’m sure who ‘they’ is, but I know they say it!”

      “I could give you a few words to describe them, but that can wait.  So, Mr. Lestrade is going to sleep at least until morning, so there’s no reason you all can’t do the same.  Get some rest, come back tomorrow and we’ll take it from there.”

      “But I don’t want to go!”

      “Arthur, don’t make me go cut a switch.”

      “You must know Mum.”

      “I do believe that the advice is sound, Arthur.  Before, we had no indication as to when Gregory might waken, but if we know there will be no opportunity for communication until tomorrow, then you should make yourself comfortable and rest as best you can.  I am quite certain you shall have a very busy day tomorrow crafting new decorations for Gregory’s room and you must be fresh to produce your highest quality work.”

      “Well, I do suppose that’s true.  I just don’t like leaving Greg here alone, Mycroft.”

      “He will not be alone.  I shall remain with him.”

      “Not a chance.  You’re going with them.”

Mycroft blinked back his surprise and turned to fully face the man addressing him.

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “Save your begging for someone who likes that sort of thing.  You’re going with them, getting some rest and putting a good meal or two under your belt.  A day like today takes it out of you and that can come back to bite you in the ass later, when you really don’t want it to.”

      “I am sorry, but you must be under the impression…”

      “Look here, Skinny.  Your… boyfriend, partner or whatever he is… is going to need you in top shape and if you start neglecting yourself, you might as well just walk away right now because you’ll be no good to him in the long run...”

John hoped that his grin wasn’t as visible as it felt because he had absolutely hoped for a day when these two could actually meet.  And it was going just as he imagined.  Mycroft looked about three seconds from exploding and Sam had already crossed his arms to settle in for awhile.  All that was missing was popcorn.  For his part, Mycroft was torn between a very inappropriate flash of giddiness at being called Skinny and a rising anger that he would gladly unleash, if only to evacuate some of his general frustrations and fears.

      “Do you have any idea…”

      “Plenty.  Come here.  John, you too.”

Mycroft was so stunned at being grabbed by the arm, that he went along with being hustled down the hall away from the rest of the very stunned, yet very amused group.

      “How dare you!”

      “Easily.  Here’s the story… right now you’re showing signs both of mental and physical exhaustion, which I’d absolutely expect from someone who’d had the day you’ve had.  And John filled me in on the some of the situation concerning Mr. Lestrade’s condition, so I bet you’re still carrying a lot of guilt and weight from that.  I am _not_ joking when I say you need to be in top shape and it’s obvious to me that, right now, you’re not.  A night’s sleep in a good bed and something to eat isn’t going to bring you back up to fighting trim, but it’s a start.  As it stands, you’re in for rough time while Mr. Lestrade makes his way back and you cannot, not for one instant, let yourself get run down.  So, you _will_ get some rest, you _will_ get some food, you _will_ recharge your batteries and you _will_ do it regularly!”

      “John!”

      “I can’t disagree, Mycroft.  You wore yourself out in Fitton and Sam’s right, you’re showing the signs.  Greg’s going to need a lot of emotional support over the next couple of days and you need to be rested to help him.  Don’t worry about anything, I’ll be here…”

      “Like hell you will.”

Now it was John’s turn to gape like a fish out of water.

      “What?”

      “You’re not staying here, you’re going with them.”

      “I most certainly am not; he’s my patient!”

      “No, he’s _our_ patient and you’re about to embarrass yourself by collapsing onto the ground!”

      “That’s ridiculous.”

      “Was it ridiculous that the last hour or so of surgery, you were pretty much just leaning on the table and I was doing all the work?”

      “That’s not…”

      “Don’t say that’s not what happened.  You were nearly in a plane crash then came straight here to work on your friend.  You’re fried, John and I don’t need a burned-out, useless excuse for a doctor in charge of my patient’s welfare.  Home.  Food. Bed.  Sex, if you’re up to it.  Back here tomorrow.”

      “Under no circumstances shall I permit Gregory to be left alone…”

      “That’s why I’ll be here.   Got my new _Road & Track_ yesterday, there’s a couple of games on tonight that I’d like to catch and, very surprisingly, I don’t have a date lined up for the evening.  So, I’ll be point man and if it makes you feel better, you can give me a call later for a check-in.  But you _are_ leaving.  _Both_ of you.  I can’t have it any other way.”

John wanted to punch something.  Hard.  The only reason he didn’t was because (a) this was part of the reason he wanted Sam on the case.  He didn’t blunt the truth and said what had to be said.  And (b) he was completely right.  John’s legs felt like jelly, his stomach was beginning to knot from the adrenaline ebb and the lack of anything to eat since they left Fitton and, in his heart, he wanted nothing more than to just have a little time with Sherlock to reassure himself that his partner was safe.

      “I _will_ be calling to check in.”

      “I _will_ be asking if you got any before you called.”

      “Bastard.”

      “My mother tries to tell me that all the time, but my dad keeps correcting her.”

      “Liar, you take a holiday back to the States every year to dance on their graves.”

      “It’s spirit communication.  I’m my own ghost whisperer.”

      “You’re your own mental patient.”

      “That too.  And that goes for all my personalities.”

      “If the schoolyard banter may be interrupted… John, do you believe it wise to leave Gregory’s care in hands other than your own at this very delicate stage?”

      “I’m not the only doctor in the world, Mycroft.  I’m not even the best, though it’s a close thing.  Greg didn’t suffer from lack of attention in Fitton and I can assure you he won’t here, either.  And, provided he doesn’t pull a nurse for some linen-closet entertainment, this twit’s a good choice to keep an eye on Greg’s progress because he has a knack for knowing when something’s wrong before anyone else does.  It’ll be ok, Mycroft.”

Not that the elder Holmes wanted to believe that for a second.  He should be here.  Gregory deserved that much at the very, very least…

      “You’re not letting him down by taking care of yourself, Mr. Holmes.  You’re not betraying him or putting him second.  You’re doing what you have to for his well-being, so get the hell out of here before I dropkick your tiny heiny and watch you bounce down the road.”

One touch of one button and this man would no longer exist anywhere.  Ever.  But, somehow, Mycroft did not believe the tall doctor would go easily into that good night and he already had sufficient matters to attend to without adding an additional one to his plate.

      “Very well.  For this one occasion, I shall bow to your and John’s advice and take what relaxation I can from the evening.  But I shall also contact you for a status report and I would appreciate you not interjecting any inappropriate questions into our conversation.”

      “Well, that’s easy since your partner in inappropriateness is currently sleeping it off in recovery.  Now, once he’s fit to canoodle, all bets are off.”

      “Canoodle?  Good heavens… John, I am now very ready to depart.”

      “Yeah, this one can clear a room faster than anyone else I know.  Come on, Mycroft… really, Greg’s in good hands.”

      “I shall reserve judgment.”

Mycroft took small satisfaction from snubbing the tall physician and striding away with his nose most certainly not in the air.

__________

      “Mycroft!  Doctor Watson!  Was there something wrong with Greg?”

      “No, we were just making arrangements for our sleeping beauty, so we can all go home and relax.”

      “Is… Mycroft, are you coming, too?”

      “It appears that I am.  I was outvoted on the issue and I am not entirely convinced that John’s colleague would not perpetrate some extremely juvenile prank that would serve to spur my eviction if I protested.  However, he will remain at Gregory’s side tonight, so you need not worry that Gregory will be alone for any reason.”

      “That’s great!  I like Doctor Sam.  He reminds me of Greg, so they’ll get along very well if Greg wakes up early and wants to chat or watch the telly or tell stories.  So, we’re really all going home?”

Mycroft watched as Martin wrapped his arm around Arthur and Sherlock very surreptitiously took John’s hand.  For awhile longer, it seemed, it would again be two couples and him.  But… hopefully it would only be for a _very_ short while…

      “Yes, I believe we are.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support of his new story! It is incredibly motivating!

      “And the reason we are not going to our own home, John?”

      “Let’s see.  We’ve got no food, no alcohol, it’s late and we’d probably wake Mrs. Hudson, I want to take a look at what Mycroft’s got set up for Greg so I can make changes if necessary, I want to keep an eye on Mycroft that he gets some sleep, if we get a call tonight, it’s more efficient if we’re all together and…”

      “A single reason would have sufficed.”

      “But I had a list.  Wasn’t going to waste all that hard thinking.”

John sat back in the very comfortable vehicle and leaned his head over onto Sherlock’s shoulders.  They had the car to themselves and it was exactly what John needed at the moment, some quiet, simple time with his partner to help bring himself back to center.  And all of his reasons were valid, including the one he didn’t want to give.  If that call came tonight and the news wasn’t good… he would rather everyone be together for support than split into two groups.  They’d been through everything as a unit and should see tonight through as a unit, too, for better or worse.

      “You are still worried about Lestrade’s welfare.”

      “Any doctor would be.”

      “Is his condition as perilous as when he last underwent surgery?”

John could hear the tinges of Sherlock’s own worry at the edges of his question.

      “Not quite, but not as far away as I would like.  There’s still a very real possibility that we get ‘the call’ tonight and…”

John heaved a large sigh and wasn’t even conscious of nestling in more closely to his partner’s body.

      “Continue.”

      “It’s…”

      “If your next phrase is some variant of ‘it’s nothing,’ I will ensure you complete the journey to Mycroft’s home in the boot of this vehicle.”

      “Not bad… you’re getting better with the casual humor.”

      “I am gaining a clearer understanding of the patterns of situation, phrase, juxtaposition and exaggeration involved in creating a humorous statement.”

      “Good for you, analyzing the hell right out those pesky humorous statements.”

      “Be aware that you are failing to divert my attention from my original line of inquiry.”

      “It’s just my own worries, Sherlock, nothing you need to be part of.”

      “I was under the impression that it was a function of one’s partner to assist with and assuage worries to the extent that was possible.”

      “Now you’re bringing out the large caliber weapons.  Not fair.”

      “I take what action is necessary regardless of circumstances.  Now, if you please… continue.”

And, just perhaps, if Sherlock had not slid a large hand along John’s thigh to rest against his knee, John might have simply passed it off with a ‘not now,’ but… the comfort was too welcome to reward with anything but the truth Sherlock wanted.

      “What if this was my fault?”

      “That is nonsensical.  I highly doubt you had the ability or the time to sabotage the aircraft and set in motion our impaired landing.”

      “Not the landing.  Greg.”

      “Was there not already an expectation that if a particularly difficult transport occurred, there could be negative consequences for Lestrade’s health?”

      “Yes, but…”

      “Are you regretting the decision to initiate his relocation?”

      “Yes.  Yes I am.”

      “But it was the correct decision from a medical standpoint.”

      “That’s debatable.  We could have waited and started to draw down his pain meds in Fitton.”

      “And made his transport that much more uncomfortable.”

      “Better uncomfortable than lethal!”

      “Lestrade did not perish.  And he will _not_ perish, despite your current fatalistic perspective.”

      “I’m not being fatalistic, just… practical.”

      “What are you failing to reveal?”

Nothing John felt comfortable discussing.  Even with Sherlock.

      “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

      “John, do not embarrass us both by forcing me to detail the nature of my observations.”

As if _anything_ he didn’t want to discuss could ever remain hidden long from his partner. 

      “Fine.  What if… when I wondered if it was my fault… I really meant something more direct.”

John didn’t need to see Sherlock’s face to feel his gaze boring into his skull.

      “You fear you somehow erred in during his first surgery.”

      “Greg was minutes from the end when we got him here, Sherlock, and with the level of previous damage… if he’d died in the ambulance, I’m not sure we could have kept him going this time.”

      “That has nothing to do with your actions, John.  You are a very skilled…”

      “How do you know?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort, but realized John had made a somewhat valid point.

      “I have observed your work, to a degree, and have always found it satisfactory.  I am also fully aware of your dedication and commitment to performing to the best of your ability…”

      “But maybe the best of my ability is crap.”

      “You were not the only surgeon to have a hand in Lestrade’s treatment.”

      “No, but I did a lot of the directing and took it on pretty much alone at the end.  What if I… this is why I didn’t want to do it, Sherlock.  Seeing a friend opened up like that, you don’t think properly.  Get him closed up fast because the longer he’s laid out the harsher the impact on his system.  No wait – go slowly and carefully because you don’t want to miss anything.  Use this number of sutures because you don’t want to cause additional trauma to his tissues.  Bad idea - use that number of sutures because you want to make sure each bit of damage is fully closed up.  You rethink, hesitate, put the wrong priorities first… maybe if I’d just let someone else handle his surgery, Greg wouldn’t be back in hospital… he could be at Mycroft’s right now!  Comfortable, surrounded by people who care about him… he could have weathered that landing as badly as he did specifically because of something _I_ did or didn’t do.”

Sherlock knew he was not the best possible person to provide support and reassurance in situations like these, but he also knew that he had to make his best effort and simply hope that it would be sufficient.  He owed John that much and further… he _wanted_ to try for the man he’s taken into his heart.

      “Your confidence did not appear reduced when you completed Lestrade’s first surgery and I am quite certain that if you had significant doubts at that point, I would have observed the effects.  That you _were_ satisfied with the outcome, indicates that nothing in your behavior or practice caused you or any other surgeon concern.  Lestrade’s rate of post-surgery recovery was, as I understand it, exceptionally promising and I cannot envision that sloppy work would have allowed him such substantial opportunity for improvement.  I have observed that emotional perturbation often results in self-directed guilt over imagined or potential slights and injuries.  I believe this to be the case for your present state of mind, as it was for Martin’s over the landing and its consequences.  I can only hope that Mycroft and Arthur are on better emotional footing, because I cannot bear the thought of twice more being pressed into the role of counselor.  I have, as they say, reached my limit.”

Laughing at Sherlock’s discomfort did as much to relieve John’s anxiety as did Sherlock’s very thoughtful and insightful words.

      “Well then, I guess I won’t get you signed up to take patients.”

      “That _would_ be unwise.”

      “But you are being serious, right?  About… me, I mean.”

      “I would not begin to know how to deceive you to promote comfort, John.  And attempting to do so would simply discomfort us both.”

      “You’re probably right.  So thank you.”

      “Was I helpful?”

      “Very.”

      “Shall I be rewarded?”

      “Maybe.”

      “I would prefer a definitive answer.  With details.”

      “Well, in that case…”

Mycroft’s driver discretely raised the window between the sections of the car and, just as a precaution, found an agreeable radio station to listen to at a raised volume for the rest of the ride.

__________

Mycroft was more than content to sit quietly and listen to Arthur finagle every detail of the landing out of Martin and heap upon him praise for his skill.  He would have his own conversation with Martin at a later time to properly thank his cousin for his efforts in securing the safety of his passengers, especially one who would have been in far worse condition if a less-skilled pilot had been in command.  If Martin wasn’t exactly where he should be for a fulfilling career and a rewarding life, there could be a position available for him to assist with the shuttling around of policymakers and diplomats.  Regardless, Mycroft would generate and keep that option available, for such time as it might be needed in the future.

Despite his worry and unease, the elder Holmes was actually beginning to nod off when a small tap to the knee roused Mycroft’s attention and Arthur’s beaming face told him they had arrived.  Sherlock and John were already exiting their vehicle, looking, Mycroft noted, slightly more disheveled than when they _entered_ the vehicle and Arthur and Martin were quickly joining them on the march to the door.

What was the expression… home sweet home?  That had never really applied until the moment it had become a second home for members of his growing family.  Home comfortable home, most certainly, but it had never been a place offering him anything else.  And how much sweeter it would be when it housed a second permanent resident…

      “Mycroft, do Skip and I get our same room?”

      “It has already been prepared in anticipation of just that question, Arthur.  Complete with suitable clothing, toiletries and pajamas until your luggage is delivered.”

      “Yes!  And I don’t suppose…”

      “This time you may look forward to koalas.”

Martin just pushed the awestruck Arthur forward and Mycroft allowed himself a tiny smug smile.  That particular species had been his idea.

      “And I guess we’re in my old room, but if you’ve got fuzzy pajamas in there, they’d better at least be something ferocious like badgers or cobras.”

      “I believe your selection is quite demure, John, though I can amend that if you prefer.”

      “Demure works for me.”

      “I do not find the concept of cobra pajamas to be completely repellant.  They are very admirable reptiles.”

      “Changing our order… one pair of cobra jimjams for Sherlock and I’ll have the badgers.”

      “I shall devote my undivided attention to the matter.”

      “Oh, and don’t forget the fuzzy slippers.  Make Sherlock’s extra tall so the neck sways when he walks.”

      “Brother, please show your mate to the nearest alcohol supply and allow him to begin his evening.”

      “Now, that’s a good idea.  Sherlock, I am ready to be escorted to the potables.”

And another couple crossed Mycroft’s threshold, leaving him standing outside, giving a nod of dismissal to the drivers, and needing a moment to adjust his mental framework back to the world of London.  It was both tiring and refreshing, neither condition making him happier than the other.  He had already stretched his unofficial holiday as far as it could go and it would take considerable effort to bring himself back fully into the details of his responsibilities, however, it was challenge and he thrived on challenge.  And, though the thought shamed him greatly, it was a chance to turn his mind away from the sorrow and guilt sitting heavily on his shoulders.  Not that it would shift that load, but it would be a place he could at least go and pretend the weight did not exist for awhile.  Much as he was about to do now, setting up strongly his mental walls and playing the happy host for his houseful of guests.

__________

Not that playing host was a burdensome task with this particular set of guests.  As Mycroft entered his sitting room, he found John and Martin settled in to view some televised sporting event, with Arthur sitting close to Sherlock busily explaining the action on the screen.  Already a glass of something welcome sat on the side table next to his traditional chair in their group’s seating arrangement and there were a few smiles that greeted him as he took a seat.  It was still a strange thing to Mycroft to be greeted with a genuine smile.

      “Mycroft!  There’s a great match on!  And Doctor Watson said that Doctor Sam was probably watching the same one so it’s like we’re watching them together and still with Greg.  At least I can pretend that’s the case and what could be better than that?”

      “They do say that when separated from loved ones it is beneficial look up into the sky and know that you, as are they, sharing for a moment the same stars.”

      “Brilliant!  I tell you, sometimes _they_ are very ridiculous, but sometimes they’re quite bright!  And when Greg’s feeling better, we’re going have radio breakfasts and movies with the cameras again, so it will be even closer to really being together.  He is… Greg _is_ still planning on living here, isn’t he?”

That particular thread of doubt was not one that Mycroft had any desire to tug upon at the present time.

      “I have not been informed otherwise, so I am continuing to plan for that circumstance.  Upon Gregory’s release from his recovery bed, he shall be moved immediately into mine.”

Mycroft rejoiced silently in the dramatic gagging from his blood relations and the snorts of laughter from his relations-by-association.

      “Well, keep your hands to yourself for now or you’ll have me to deal with.  I do _not_ need to worry about his heart giving out from unsanctioned exercise.”

      “Then, my dear doctor, you shall have to provide for me a list of sanctioned exercises.  I shall have paper and a quality pen delivered to your room post haste.”

      “Hand-holding.  You are restricted to hand-holding.  Anything else with you two just spirals out of control until someone has to hose you down to restore order.”

      “Gross exaggeration.”

      “I don’t know about that, Mycroft.  You do give Greg a very naughty-tiger look, sometimes.”

      “I do?  Good heavens, how terribly feline of me.”

      “Of course, he gives you one right back, which is brilliant because it just shows how perfect you are together.”

      “Arthur, I will gladly open my bank account and allow you free access to the contents if you immediately cease any discussion about my brother, Lestrade and any form of interaction between them, up to and including, distressing stares and events beyond hand-holding.  Actually, include hand-holding on your prohibited list because the mental image is inciting the taste of bitter metal in my mouth.”

      “You are quite the ninny sometimes, Mr. Sherlock, even when I’m not completely sure what you’re being a ninny about.”

      “I will also donate my lack of funds to this deal, love.  Take as much non-money as you want and leave my brain free from upsetting images of that old man doing anything that old people shouldn’t talk about doing when anyone in the world is present to hear.”

      “Mycroft is _not_ old!  He doesn’t even have gray hair.  But Greg does and I don’t think he’s old either, so I may have to rethink my clues for deciding whether or not people are old.   But it doesn’t matter right now because Mycroft’s very spry and he and Greg can do _lots_ of things together.  There’s going for walks and swims and dancing, which I know they already do…”

Mycroft tried to remember if he had ever before been called spry or if Arthur realized that was precisely a word associated with the elderly and decided that enjoying his nice glass of scotch was a much more enjoyable use of his time.

      “It’s exactly because he’s spry that I fear for Greg’s virtue.  I may have to set up my own surveillance system to keep an eye on my patient when I’m not here.”

      “I shall allow you the codes to access the existing feeds, if that simplifies matters.”

      “Oh, that just makes my brain squirm.”

      “Really!  What does that feel like?  My brain squirms sometimes and it’s rather like it’s trying to fold its edges into the middle while doing one of those brilliant hula dances at the same time.”

      “Yep, that about describes it.  Martin, refill to keep our brains from squirming?”

      “I think that’s the best idea I’ve heard all night.  How about I help you get it?”

John caught something in Martin’s voice and knew that saying no would be a very poor decision.

      “Sounds good.  We can bring out something to chew on, too.  You’re kitchen’s probably stocked for a famine isn’t it, Mycroft?”

      “I do prefer to be prepared.”

      “Ok, food’s on the way.  Martin, let’s go.”

John gave Sherlock the smallest nod of acknowledgement that he recognized his partner’s curiosity, but he also felt sure this conversation wouldn’t be one he would be in a position to share.  Martin followed along to the kitchen and John was not at all surprised that he closed the door behind him.

      “John…”

      “How you doing, Martin?”

Martin drew a chair away from the table and sat down heavily.  He’d tried so hard to hold himself together, to keep all of his feelings inside, but it had gotten too difficult and something had to leak out before he exploded from the pressure.

      “Horrible.  Miserable.  Wanting to tear my hair out by the roots and it’s getting worse the longer I sit and think about what nearly happened.  I think the only reason it’s been alright for the most part is… Sherlock.  He actually helped today, probably by accident, but he did.  But now… I’m feeling antsy and ripped apart and want more than anything to just make it go away and I know I _can_ with one quick tablet down my throat.  I’ll be able to relax and sleep and maybe just believe what Sherlock had to say completely and be there for Arthur when his ‘I’m in charge’ veneer cracks…”

      “And you can’t do that.”

      “No, I can.  I just _shouldn’t_.”

      “You’re right.  You’re absolutely right.  The only thing stopping you sneaking out and finding something is you.  Is that going to be enough?”

John didn’t like the ugly laugh from the man sitting at the table, but couldn’t say he didn’t understand it.

      “It has to be; not really any other option, is there?”

It just, at that moment, began to hit John how hard today must have been on Martin.  He’d been so focused on Lestrade’s situation that he’d completely forgotten about his other patient who had been involved in the incident.  And who had a more personal connection to it than any of them.

      “Yes, there is.  You can lean on those who want to help.  Sounds like Sherlock’s already stepped up and done his part, which explains why I’ve been hearing angels singing in the heavens all day, so now the rest of us can take a turn.  I can start by saying thank you for keeping us all in one piece.  It can’t have been easy if the shake we got anyway was any indication, so you have my sincere gratitude for that.  And I don’t think you’re going to really need to ‘be there’ for Arthur as much as you think.  Sherlock told me about his newfound authority and I don’t think all of Arthur’s handling of his emotions can be linked to his new crown.  He saw Greg make it through this once and in far worse straights.  And he wasn’t as actively involved this go around… I think he’ll be ok.  A little emotional release and he’ll do well.  You were his rock last time, mate… let him be _yours_ now.  You know he would be thrilled…”

      “I just don’t want to have him to worry about me, John.  Especially now.   Who wants to marry someone who they have to worry about every time there’s the tiniest little crisis?”

      “Tiny?  I think everyone will happily agree that our arrival was _not_ a tiny little crisis.  And that’s _your_ command, so it means all the more to you than if we were coming in on someone else’s baby.  You’re worried about her, aren’t you?”

      “Terribly.  Until I hear GERTI’s in good shape, I don’t think that worry is going to go away, either.”

      “And it shouldn’t!  Captain and his ship and all that… I know there’s something to it.  And I know you take your job very seriously, so you _should_ be worried.  None of what you’re feeling is out-of-bounds, Martin… except the part about Arthur.  We’ve all had a hard day and are feeling a bit off the mark, but you have more reason, perhaps, than some of us.  And there’s nothing wrong with that.  Nothing at all.  That you haven’t come up with some pretense to take a little ride and find some ease to your problems says a lot about you.”

      “It says that I wouldn’t get to the door because Sherlock and Mycroft would stop me and I’d never get to leave again because you and Arthur would want me watched for further lapses.”

John just shook his head and silently congratulated Martin on the mildness of his lashing out.

      “Did it feel good to get that off your chest?”

      “A little, actually.”

      “Feeling trapped?”

      “A bit.”

      “Ok, that’s normal.  Nothing I wouldn’t expect.  Truthfully, I feel like a complete fool for not even thinking about what this would do to you and intervening more quickly.”

      “I think you had more important things on your mind, John.”

      “Not more important, Martin.  More pressing, maybe, but absolutely not any more important.  I’ll be honest, you’re doing well.  Very, very well and it’s sometimes hard to remember why I got to meet you in the first place.  But I won’t forget again.  No smothering, I promise, but I _won’t_ forget.”

Martin’s response went unsaid when a very soft knock sounded at the kitchen door and both men knew exactly who could make a knock sound exactly like an apology for interrupting.

      “Come in, Arthur.”

One slightly-anxious pair of eyes peeked into the kitchen, the rest of the face hidden behind the door.

      “I don’t need to, I was just checking that everything was alright.”

      “Because you’re in charge.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed a little at the surliness in Martin’s voice, but it didn’t draw him further into the room or push him away.

      “No, because you’ve been having a bit of a look in your eye for awhile now and you’ve been doing the finger-tapping you do, even when you’re holding my hand, which means your little problem is being a problem again.  And Doctor Watson would be the person you’d talk to about it if you didn’t talk to me.”

Martin stared at his fiancé and wondered if he had heard him correctly.

      “You knew?”

      “I always know.  I may not say anything, because you don’t like talking about your little problem, so I only do if you’re being a bit shouty or GRRRRRRR.  But I _always_ know, Skip… I just assume you’ll say something about it if you want to and if not that’s ok, too.  As long as I know, I can make sure to bring you an extra biscuit with your tea or make sure we watch one of your favorite films or try very hard to stay quiet when you’re reading one of your books, though, that one never seems to ever work very well.  I do try though.”

John watched Martin try to hold a sulk and fail, though he wasn’t quite ready to admit that Arthur wasn’t as in need of as much protection from his situation as he might like to think.

      “And I’m sure Martin appreciates it, Arthur.  Now, why don’t you let us have just another minute or two and we’ll be back with the promised bounty of food.”

      “Yes!  Even though he won’t admit it, Mr. Sherlock’s looking a little like he could use a nibble.  I was talking about a nice cream-filled bun I had once and he looked very interested in what I was saying, almost like every word was a tiny cream bum and he wanted to catch them in his mouth like a frog catches a fly.”

      “Yeah, I know that look and you’re right about what it means.  And once Sherlock’s tongue starts shooting out, there’s no telling what it’ll stick to.  Tell him we’ll be right there.”

      “Brilliant!  And I’ll sit across both our spaces on the sofa, Skip, so you’ve got a nice, warm place to sit when you’re ready.”

Then Arthur’s eyes were gone and Martin finally gave in to a weary chuckle.

      “Every day he amazes me even more.”

      “And _his_ tongue doesn’t try and zap mini buns.”

      “No, but don’t get between him and a snowflake.”

      “Ah, thanks for that.  Forewarned is forearmed.”

__________

Mycroft was pleased to see his cousin’s mental burden somewhat lessened by the time he and John returned from their consultation and laid out several platters of food onto his sofa table.  It truly was laudable how the boy had maintained his composure through today’s trials, given the additional issues that plagued him, but he simply must learn to more quickly seek assistance for his ills.  And this was something he must impress, again, very seriously upon his Detective Inspector.  He would be even more reticent to vocalize his distress or concerns after today, following some ludicrously convoluted path of quasi-logic that would end in self-blame for bringing his worries to light in the first place.

And those thoughts set Mycroft touching his mobile, likely for the fiftieth time since he sat down in his home.  This Harris person had John’s contact information, but would have John have passed along his?  Doubtful, as John was well aware how circulating _any_ information about him could be considered a severe security risk.  Mycroft had ensured that a contact number that _would_ reach him was added as a contact on his Gregory’s medical records, but that was a step removed from the immediacy of an emergency.  He would far rather be notified directly in the event of a crisis, even though John was present tonight to take a call from their so-called medical representative.  Yes, the situation was quite intolerable and demanded to be remedied.

      “If you will excuse me for a moment?”

      “If it is to replace the mobile that you have likely stroked down to the bare wires in the time you have been pretending to relax, then you are gladly excused.  It has been a nearly pornographic display and I, for one, have not been impressed by your technique.”

      “Mycroft, there’s not going to have been any change.  If something had happened, Sam would have called.”

      “Yes, but who would he have contacted?  I rather doubt he is in possession of my information and I am not content to be in the position of waiting for you to relay any information about Gregory’s condition.  I simply plan to rectify this gap in communications.”

      “Oh!  If you’re going to call Doctor Sam, ask him to ask Greg if he wakes up what he wants for a new picture on his wall.  I have a few ideas, but I want to make sure that if he’s to be in a hospital room again for a little while that he has brilliant things to look at to make him smile.  It’s sad, but I’m fairly sure he won’t be much in the mood to smile when he wakes up and finds himself there and not here.”

As always, Arthur had no difficulty aiming right at the heart of Mycroft’s burbling cauldron of concerns and depositing his shot directly in the center of the caustic soup.

      “I shall not fail to carry your message verbatim.”

Before Martin could add his own opinion to the group discussion, Mycroft made his way to his study and took a deep breath before initiating a call to a mobile number that had been provided with the hefty dossier on the man currently within striking distance of his beloved Gregory.

      “Fuck.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “Not an invitation, Mr. Holmes.  But you do really like the begging, don’t you?  Easy to figure out who tops in your house.”

There was no doubt in Mycroft’s mind that (a) this was the fastest his irritation had ever been brought to its maximum level and (b) his Gregory was still safe.

      “I believe we had an agreement prohibiting such a discussion.”

      “Prohibiting such a _question_.  No question, no breaking the agreement.  Good try, though.  Give it a little more practice and I’m sure you’ll trip me up next time.”

Safe and well.  However…

      “May I ask how you were able to know I was the caller, or do you address everyone in such a crass and disgraceful manner?”

      “You’ve had just about enough time to sit, let some nerves settle and new ones start to itch, so it was time to expect you to decide to reach out and bother me.  John’ll take a little longer since he doesn't have a love connection going with this sleeping beauty, but he’ll get in his own bout of botheration in an hour or so.  No, make that two, now that you’ve called.”

      “You do realize that I shall not append a bonus to your wages commiserate with the number of words you use when answering a question?”

      “If I didn’t think you’d say ‘I beg your pardon,’ I’d burst out laughing and call you Pot.  Of course, that’d make me Kettle and I don’t have a corncob pipe or play the fiddle, so why confuse people.”

Only one other person could sling words at Mycroft and reduce him to a flailing mass of mental limbs attempting to snatch the meaning scattered among them.

      “Now, if you called to ask about Mr. Lestrade, here’s my report.  He’s sleeping.  He’s snoring.  He’s drooling.  End of report.  I’ll call you if that changes.”

      “Do you have any indication of when he might regain consciousness?”

      “You know, I did think about bringing my crystal ball with me today, but the two I’m already carrying are heavy enough.”

      “Answer my question!”

      “No.”

      “I shall have you…”

      “Stop.  Rewind yourself.”

      “You… ah.  Would it be within your precognitive scope to predict that we may greet him tomorrow?”

      “I don’t think that’s out of the question.”

      “At this stage of our conversation, I am not entirely certain to what you are referring.”

      “I’d say it’s likely he’ll be up and at ‘em tomorrow.  If he rises and shines before the bus rolls in, I will let you know.  Now, can I get back to enjoying my shift-as-a-gift?  I promise you, Mr. Holmes, that I will notify you as soon as is humanly possible about any developments, good or bad, and I don’t go around breaking promises.  Bad karma.”

Despite the frequent lapses into idiocy, Mycroft believed the man to be true to his word.

      “Very well.  I shall provide you with a number at which you may contact me no matter the hour.”

      “Are you really sure you want to do that?  I have a very well-deserved reputation as a prank caller, and I prefer the hours between ‘screw you’ and ‘die you fucking asshole’ to work my magic.”

      “Please write this number down and kindly refrain from speaking another word to me.”

      “Hold on, I need a pen.  And… there’s a nice clean space on Mr. Lestrade’s arm…”

      “You wouldn’t dare!”

      “Oh, I would, but only if he was passed out drunk.  And I would be writing something a lot less happy than his boy toy’s phone number.  Ok, give.”

Mycroft debated having his conversation partner quietly relocated to a nice medical outpost in Siberia, but shelved the idea as he already owed one favor to the counterpart with whom he would have to negotiate to broker the posting and identity transfer and that was quite enough for his lifetime.   After listening to every number he spoke being repeated out loud in a blatant attempt to provoke further annoyance, there was little doubt that Mycroft had reached the proverbial bitter end of his patience.

      “Excellent.  I shall leave you…”

      “Have you eaten?”

      “Do me the courtesy of…”

      “No courtesy until I know you’ve had something to eat.”

      “As a matter of record, a small repast was laid out but a moment ago and I shall be partaking as soon as I disentangle myself from your particular brand of distraction.”

      “Ok, not really what I want to hear, but I guess it’s better than nothing.  However, you had better not be talking about bourbon and bowls of bar snacks or I’ll have you hooked up to a feeding tube so fast it will make your head swim.”

      “Bourbon… how disappointingly predictable.”

      “I will put my precious bourbon up against whatever your shiny shoes can kick up any day.”

A challenge?

      “Apparently, John’s confidence in your mental faculties has been sadly misplaced.”

      “Hiding behind bluster.  Typical.”

      “This is a contest for which there is absolutely no chance of victory on your part.”

      “This is a contest for which you are going to be so completely crushed they won’t even be able to get DNA to identify your body.”

      “You shall regret this.”

      “Seeing you defeated?  No regrets there.”

      “Bottles at dawn?  Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

      “As soon as Mr. Snoozy wakes up and he’s good to go, the games _will_ begin.”

      “Fine spirits are most certainly not a game.”

      “I think we’ve finally found something we can agree on.”

      “Let us hope, however, this is a singular event.”

__________

      “Well?  How much crap did Sam give you for calling?”

      “Surprisingly little, John.  I believe he was somewhat fatigued and not quite at the top of his game.”

      “Sam Harris can go for _days_ without any decent sleep.  In fact, he could probably give Sherlock a good run for it, it he had to, so I’ll just believe the blood pressure spike he gave you impaired your memory and not make an issue of your complete lie.”

Mycroft wished his steely glower actually had an effect on the Army doctor, but life with Sherlock had made the insufferable man entirely immune.

      “Was Greg awake?  Did he say anything?  Is he feeling ok?  Are they still giving him the medicine that makes him feel like he’s floating on a cloud, which is actually a very nice thing to think about really.  Floating around and visiting new places while lying about on a soft, puffy cloud…”

      “Gregory has not yet woken, however, there is an expectation that he should rejoin us sometime tomorrow.”

      “Well, that’s not a bad thing!  It took days last time and this won’t be much different than all of _us_ having a nice little sleep.  We’ll all wake up together and it will be like nothing happened!  Of course, something _did_ happen, but maybe Greg won’t feel so sad if he’s not days behind everyone like he was in Fitton.”

      “Let us hope that is the case.  Now, how goes this athletic competition you seem so keen on following?”

      “John’s side is shaming him.”

      “You were _on_ my side, Martin, until you jumped over to the enemy.”

      “You _did_ do a little jump, Skip.”

      “It was more an act of craven betrayal, which seems a poorly-conceived action considering who holds the reins of his medical existence.  John can be quite retributory when he feels he has cause.”

Mycroft settled back in his chair and listened to the back and forth among the younger men and pointedly told himself the small bit of bread and cheese he took from the platter of offerings was to quiet his stomach and not placate the horrendous troll-like creature guarding the love of his life.  A second small bit followed the first and by the time his mobile rang he could actually say he’d consumed what approximated a real meal.  Fortunately, the phone conversation was not about his Gregory, but it was one for which he had been waiting, nonetheless.

      “It appears you may cease any continued worry about your aircraft being the victim of foul play, cousin.  There was an issue with the hydraulic system that impaired the aircraft’s braking function.  There was no evidence of intentional modification and the conclusion that will be reported is that a simple equipment malfunction was the cause of the accident.  All due paperwork will be filed and the repair work shall begin tomorrow.  We may consider that matter closed.”

It was impossible to miss the change in Martin’s body as he heard Mycroft’s news and Arthur wrapped an arm around him to both give his skipper a tight hug and prevent him from sliding from the sofa onto the floor.

      “And you are quite sure of this?”

      “I promise you, Sherlock, I would not jest about the issue of potential sabotage.  And, before you give the insult, the qualifications of the investigators are more than acceptable.”

Sherlock snorted his opinion on the latter part of Mycroft’s statement, but decided not to take the matter any further.  Either Mycroft was being honest and the matter was closed, or he was being dishonest, but it would no longer concern anyone but him and, again, the matter was closed.  There was nothing here to follow that would lead anywhere productive or interesting.

      “Very well.  John, we are retiring.”

      “I’m not _that_ old.”

      “For the evening.  I have a paper that I need to read and you will assist me.”

      “That doesn’t make any sense, but if I looked for sense in everything you said, I’d be a very disappointed man.”

Mycroft was more than a little happy that he was not the only person this evening who was required to contend with an uppity man of medicine.

      “I think that’s Sherlock’s very unpracticed way of trying to be suggestive.”

      “Oh!  Thank you, Captain Crieff, for the clarification.  Sherlock, I will be happy to assist you in _reading a paper_.  See how I added that emphasis there and did the little eyebrow wriggle?  Might want to jot that down for future reference.”

Sherlock glared at his cousin, but wasted no time pulling John to his feet and propelling him away from the rest of the party.

      “And, on that note, I think I’ll take advantage of the very large bathtub available to me and then doing a bit of reading myself.  Arthur, you coming?”

      “In a little while, Skip.  I’ll help clean all of this up first and maybe see if there is anything fun on the telly.  But I won’t be long.”

And, Martin knew, take some time to talk to Mycroft.  Which would probably be a very good thing for both of them.

      “That sounds fine.  Whenever you’re ready.  Mycroft, let us know if you hear anything?”

      “Without delay.  Have a good evening, Martin.”

      “See you in the morning.”

__________

Mycroft wasn’t surprised in the least that Arthur did make a cursory flip through the channels and insist on tidying up the sitting room, because any less would have meant he told an untruth to his fiancé and that would not be something Arthur could easily perpetrate.  He was also not surprised that, after his conscience had been appeased, Arthur didn’t immediately take his leave to follow Martin to bed.  It was time to crack open the door for a morsel of discussion.

      “It has been quite the eventful day, has it not, my boy?”

      “I’ll be honest, Mycroft.  It was a bit more eventful than I find myself considering brilliant.”

      “That is a worthy evaluation and one I gladly share.”

      “And…”

      “Is there an issue you wish to explore, Arthur?”

      “Well, no and yes.  The first part no, but the second part yes.”

If it was ever feasible, Mycroft would have his current archenemy and Arthur closeted together for some recreational activity and observe the result from a strategically distant location.

      “Then let us begin with the first part, shall we?”

      “Ok, that’s a good idea.  Well, it’s like this…I was wondering… and it’s fine if you say no, but do I have to still be in charge now that we know what’s wrong with GERTI and she’s going to be alright?”

Whatever Mycroft had been thinking, it was certainly not this, but showing his amusement would not be wise, given Arthur’s very serious tone and expression.

      “I hereby relieve you of command, Arthur.  You may take satisfaction from a job well done and retire with my sincere gratitude.”

      “Brilliant!  Thank you so much!  I don’t know how you do it, Mycroft.  Being in charge, I mean.  And that’s the second part by the way.  How _do_ you do it?  I mean… it was _hard_.  Having to be brave and talk to the clipboard man and all of your friends and get them sorted, though your friends were very nice and much easier to talk to than the man who danced with Skip and Mr. Sherlock… and do all of that and not get misty or have to have a little sit-down.  How can you do that all of the time?  And you do a really brilliant job of it, too, but I just don’t know how you can.   I guess if you have to, you have to, like I did today and if I ever have to do it again I will and I’ll do my very, very best but… how do you do it?”

One day, Mycroft hoped he would be able to anticipate Arthur for more than the smallest of issues.  Or that he would learn how Arthur could so easily asked the most penetrating of questions…

      “It is not something to which I necessarily devote a great deal of thought, actually.  It is simply something I do.  As I have always done.  It is, perhaps, a matter of instinct or habit at this point.  I… simply do not know another way to be.”

Which actually startled Mycroft as he put words to something he had never truly tried to give form in his thoughts.

      “Well, I guess that makes sense.  The only way I know to be is to be me and I do that as easily as you do being in charge of everything.  But… was there ever anything else you wanted to do or was there any other way you were?  Maybe when you were little and didn’t have to take charge of everything and make sure it all runs like it’s supposed to?”

Mycroft leaned forward and rested his chin on the tips of his fingers, turning his mind to places he had not chosen to visit… in a very, very long time.

      “I did not look for this to be my future, I suppose, when I was a child.  If I was to offer an alternative it would be that I might have chosen an academic path if it had been offered.”

      “Come again?”

      “I very much enjoyed the learning process.  Reading and acquiring knowledge that helped me understand further knowledge, as well as the world that surrounded me.  I was quite fond of history, actually.  Perhaps I would have found a career along those lines, researching and reporting events that shaped our modern lives.”

      “That sounds brilliant!  And you would have been the best at it because you’re very clever and you probably write as poshly as you speak, so you could write lots of books and people would love to read them.  Oh!  And you could do the pictures yourself!  I’m sure everybody would want to read your books and they would learn so much… it’s a shame, really, that you probably don’t have time to do that now.”

Mycroft tried not to stare at Arthur because he was terribly afraid he might catch a glimpse of the mystical creature that had apparently perched on the boy’s shoulder and whispered memories into his ear.  He _had_ written a book.  A bit short, perhaps, but it would not be unworthy of the title.  _And_ provided the illustrations.  His own analysis of the Imjin River battle during the Korean War.  He was ten years old at that point and it marked the last time he was able to devote the energy and attention to such pursuits.  His little book sat, secure and away from prying eyes, in one of his safes, but… perhaps one day he would take it out and let Arthur see what no one else had seen in over thirty years.  He was one person who would appreciate what a young Mycroft had claimed as a passion, until it became untenable to pursue that dream any longer.

      “That is very good of you to say.  Upon my leaving the theater of civil service, I might find time again for such things, thought that day is , hopefully, very far in the future.”

      “Well, if you do get to write some books, I want copies of each one.  And you need to sign them, too, because that makes them especially special.”

      “I promise to scribe a very moving statement for each volume I present you as a gift.”

      “Brilliant!  But…you are alright being in charge?  I mean, I know how hard it is and I was only in charge for a day so if you ever need anyone to talk to about that you can always talk to me because I understand and you’re… well, you’re family, just like a brother I can go to when I need to talk, so you can do the same with me and I’ll listen to every word and help if I can.  You won’t forget, right?”

As if Mycroft could ever forget a gift as precious as that.

      “I promise not to forget.  And I thank you for your offer.  I have found your assistance to be greatly helpful in the past and will have no reluctance to seek it again in the future.  It is always a pleasure to seek counsel from my little brother who such a powerful talent for understanding people.”

      “Skip Brilliant!  You know, I thought I’d have to have a little moment after I didn’t have to be in charge anymore, but now… I don’t feel misty at all!  You’re the best, Mycroft.  And Greg’s the best, so you two make an amazing couple!”

He may have been late starting a family, but Mycroft could ask for none better than the one he had found.

      “Then we are well matched with you and Martin.  Who, I would assume, is patiently awaiting your arrival.  I believe it is time to end his waiting, is it not?”

      “Only if you’re not upset about not having anyone to talk to after I go to bed.”

Actually, Mycroft had a great number of individuals to speak with because he had a legion of matters awaiting his attention and there was no reason to postpone his full return to service any longer.

      “I promise you that I shall fully and satisfactorily occupy my time.”

      “Well, ok then.  And tomorrow I’ll see Greg’s new room?  I need to plan on how we can make it look as happy as possible.”

      “That shall be our first matter of business.  Sleep well, Arthur.”

      “Goodnight, Mycroft!  And I’ll cook breakfast for everyone, too, so don’t worry about that.  Something _very_ special…”

      “Of that, Arthur, I have absolutely no doubt.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My continued gratitude for all of the thoughtful and very kind words. I cherish every one!

White.  Stupid sodding white.  Mycroft did not have a white house.  Of all the rooms Lestrade had seen, none were just white.  Or cold.  Or had windows in interior walls.  No…

      “Someone’s awake and unhappy.  But, anyone who wakes up in this dump and isn’t unhappy has a problem.  A big one.”

Lestrade tried to turn to see who was talking to him and wanted to scream to the heavens when his body showed the same sluggishness and lack of response as when he first woke up in Fitton.

      “Calm down… not that you can do anything interesting right now, but I’d rather you not even _think_ about doing something dumb.”

He was being harangued by a flippant American.  Apparently hell was white rather than the red they tried to lead him to believe at church.

      “Wh… where…”

      “London.  There was a bad landing with the plane and John and I had to do a patch job on you.”

Bad landing.  Lestrade tried to think and found he couldn’t remember much beyond getting into the ambulance to travel to the airfield.  It was just bits and pieces after that, none of which linked together to make a big picture.  Whatever John had given him, it had been more than a _little something_ to help him relax.  And he definitely didn’t remember any bad landing… but if there had been one…

      “Is anyone….”

      “Hurt?  Nope.  From what John said, there was some trouble with the landing gear, but it just made for a rough touchdown.  With your plumbing, though, it was enough to shake loose a few of the new welds and get you started leaking.  All we had to do was tack a few things back together and give you a chance to sleep it off.”

Oddly, the man, who Lestrade assumed was a doctor, was putting things in terms he understood.  And making it sound as if it wasn’t _too_ bad.

      “S.so… did you have to…”

      “Open you up again?  Yep.  Gotta go through the wall to get to the pipes.  But we closed you up cleanly.  I even made sure to cut and stitch so that if you’re laying down and someone’s looming over you, it looks sort of like you’ve got ‘MH’ carved into your chest.  I’ll take a check or credit card for _that_ bit of custom work to help out your sex life.”

At least the pain medication made it safe to laugh because Lestrade couldn’t hold back the sharp bark that tapered off to a rather embarrassing giggle.

      “Good m…man.”

      “I believe in going the extra mile.  Take care of _all_ aspects of my patient’s health.”

      “That w..why you’re here.  Watching m…my telly?”

      “No, this is me hiding out from my legions of over-enthusiastic lust-crazed fangirls.”

      “P…prat.”

      “That’s Doctor Prat to you, sickie.”

      “Why here?”

      “Because if I didn’t take guard duty, neither John nor your sweet Mycroft would leave.  And if either of them had stayed, fists and teeth would have come into play at some point and I don’t risk this handsome face for anything.  This way, they get some rest and I get to remain the best looking man in medicine.”

At least someone was making Mycroft take it easy.  Lestrade suddenly felt a wash of relief knowing that both John and Mycroft were getting some time off.  It would have made this all the worse if they were still suffering their own neglect because of him.  Mycroft especially.  Sherlock was actually doing a grand job taking care of John, but Mycroft didn’t have anyone who could actually make him do something he didn’t particularly want to do.  Lestrade had no idea how this doctor had gotten the bureaucrat to go home, but he was very thankful for it.

      “I reminded him of his duty to you to be in good shape so he doesn’t crap out like a worthless sack of shit when you need him most.  I’ll give him this much, that did the trick.  He must really care about you if he’s willing to let an idiot like _me_ kick him in the ego like that.”

Christ, another one that saw straight into your head!

      “Oh, you’re mug was scrunched up trying to figure something out and it was easy to figure out what that something was.”

Demon!

      “Big eyes and a ‘what the hell’ face.”

      “Can I just…”

      “Catch a break?  Stop being so completely obvious?  Get some naked frolics with your boyfriend anytime soon?  Have a beer?”

      “L…last two first.”

      “Now that’s a man after my own heart.  Well, as I understand it, you’ll be in what amounts to a private hospital room in your _special friend’s_ house, so the level of attention and therapy you receive should be more intensive than the normal luckless lout left rotting in this place.  And I’m guessing you’ll have access to all of the ‘really expensive so they don’t use it on the normal taxpayers’ treatments, so that’ll speed things up, too.  You’ll have John, which is the opposite of a good thing, but at least he’s drunk less than half the time, so that’s a plus.  There’s your cheerleaders and if anything should push your ass out of that bed is the sight of that boy band I saw in the waiting area dressed in short skirts and carrying pompoms.  So, with all of that motivation and support, I’d say getting yourself in shape enough for a beer is in the very foreseeable future.  As far as the other matter goes… well, once you can at least use a piss bottle, we can pull out the catheter and I don’t mind dropping a little Viagra into your drip to help things along.  And anyway, you’ve got functional hands and a tongue.  There’s a lot of fun to be had just with that.”

Finally!  Someone who understood his thinking!

      “That’s w…what I said.”

      “And let me guess, the big dope said you were too weak and pitiful.  What an idiot.  You’re going to have to watch him.  Put on the puppy-dog eyes and whine pathetically about how he thinks you’re hideous and won’t touch you and your esteem’s been crushed and now you feel unloved, blah, blah, blah…  he’ll fold like a  cheap suit.”

      “My…Mycroft doesn’t wear cheap suits.”

      “You’re telling me!  Might as well staple hundred dollar bills to his ass and be done with it.  God bless him, I guess, but I couldn’t do that… eat one hot dog and I’ve got mustard somewhere.  What fun would it be avoiding hot dogs or having a quick, hot and nasty tryst in some dusty supply closet or grimy alley.  I hope you plan on showing him what he’s missing.”

Now that was something nice to think about… Mycroft bloody Holmes on his knees in some dark and dirty cupboard doing filthy things…

      “I love heart monitors… better than reading minds.  Mr. Big Wiggie better guard his family jewels… you know, I dated a policewoman once… fantastic in bed.  Mind if I ask if that’s the norm for you guys?”

      “Perk of the j…job.”

      “Ok, good to know.  Haven’t had a chance to meet any lovely law-enforcement honeys over here, but now I find myself motivated to change that sad statistic.”

      “I’ll… give you some names.”

      “See, I knew I liked you.  So now that you’ve got your sea legs and we’re best buddies, how about you give me some idea of how you’re feeling right now?  I mean the air quote feel, too, just as much as the physical feel.  And if you lie, I’ll know and you’ll be catheterized until you turn seventy.”

Lestrade felt his surprisingly good mood start to drain away, but… it didn’t drain as far as he might have thought.  Maybe it was because there wasn’t a score of anxious faces in his field of view waiting for his answer, maybe it was because there was no one here who was already feeling guilty about his circumstances, maybe because the very strange doctor actually talked to him like a person and not a patient… but suddenly, he didn’t mind the idea of talking.  As soon as he got one question out of the way.

      “Did… did I die again?”

      “No, Lazarus, you didn’t.  I won’t say the golden arches, I mean pearly gates, weren’t beckoning a little by the time you got here, but you weren’t really in dire straits, yet.  John would probably say you were frenching the Grim Reaper, but he’s a hysteric.  Don’t listen to him whenever possible.”

He didn’t die.  He did not die.  This time he _did not die_.  It really shouldn’t make a difference.  Not one bit.  But it did.  It made a world of difference.  It made _all_ the difference.

      “Ok…that’s good.”

      “I’d say so.  The alternative sucks balls.”

There wasn’t anything to argue with in that.

      “You should be proud of yourself, you know. What you took would have killed nearly anyone else, even with the help you got from that Arthur kid, who I need to give a pat on the back at some point, because not everyone could have kept you going as long as he did without giving out from either exhaustion or frustration.  But if _you_ didn’t have the will to hang on it wouldn’t have made any difference.  Dying’s no fun, though, I’ll give you that.  Makes you realize, really realize, that it can happen to you.  That it _will_ happen to you.  Up until that point, it all seems abstract, something that happens to other people… then boom.  Down you go.  The take home message should be ‘I really need to appreciate my life more and actually make the most of it,’ but I guess we’ll have to see what we see for that, won’t we?”

And that really _was_ true.  Lestrade had seen more death than he ever wanted to remember, but there was always a lingering belief that he would wake up every morning of every day for… well, forever.  Dying had changed that.  Taken away that confidence, that security… he _could_ die.  Any moment something could happen and Arthur or John wouldn’t be there to keep his soul attached to his flesh.  It felt like all the hope had run out of him along with the all of the blood and, ultimately, he had no idea how to actually make the most of his life knowing that tomorrow he could be in the ground, so what did it really matter…

      “But, if you care, I think you’ll have a very long time to push down the nihilistic quagmire that’s starting to fill up your head and get back on board with having a good time and enjoying your life.  Not that I think it’ll happen today or tomorrow, but it will eventually.  Already you’re thinking about beer and sex, the two most important things for human survival, so I’ve got faith.”

That _absolutely_ should not have made a difference, but a little faith from someone who didn’t know him from the next man, at this point in time, felt more encouraging than what he experienced from Mycroft or any of lads.  They _had_ to have faith, but this person didn’t.  Made it seem more genuine somehow.  And he _was_ thinking about beer and sex, so maybe all wasn’t lost…

      “There we go.  That’s a ‘picturing my boyfriend naked smile’ if I’ve ever seen one.”

Which, Lestrade realized, was something he’d never actually ever seen.  Not completely anyway… now _that_ was something to look forward to.

      “Jealous?”

      “No, I can honestly say I have no desire to see Skinny naked.  Seriously, don’t even put that in my mind.  As it is it’s hard to take him seriously, so I don’t need to be laughing every time the poor man tries to talk to me.”

      “Y…yeah, you’re jealous.”

      “You think what you want, you poor, deluded son of a bitch.  Which reminds me of John.  And my promise to call him and Smugcroft if you woke up before they got here.  Now, I didn’t say I’d necessarily call the second you woke up, so I’m not breaking my word if you’d like to wait a little before I let them know.  Say, long enough for another nap, some sprucing up and I bet that if I rummage around, I can find you a decent robe to put around your shoulders so you don’t look so much like an invalid.  What do you think?”

Lestrade thought it sounded like heaven.  Although he wanted desperately to see Mycroft and the rest of his, well, _family_ was the best word for what they were, he supposed, the thought bordered on overwhelming.  And the idea of having a real robe on instead of just the awful hospital gown was nearly orgasmic.

      “Maybe just a little… longer.”

      “Sounds good.  I want to finish up with my reading anyway.  About… two hours?  It’s a little after four now, and so that will give them until six to sleep and I’ll tell them there’s no rush, which the assholes will probably ignore, but I still don’t put them getting here for a good half-hour minimum after that, if not longer.  Take a nap for another hour or so and then we’ll get you ready to meet your subjects, Your Majesty.  Good enough for you?  ”

More than good enough.  Perfect.

      “That’ll w…work.”

      “Alrighty then.  And we can work on your stutter, too.  So, get some sleep and I’ll wake you when it’s showtime.”

Lestrade just nodded, because his brain took the permission to rest as an order and was already shutting off… only hiccupping when it realized that it didn’t even know his doctor’s name…

__________

Martin had a very difficult time getting Arthur to settle enough to fall asleep.  Sherlock had a very difficult time getting John to settle enough to fall asleep.  Luckily, neither cousin would know that fact or there would have been a heated competition over who had the more restless mate and that would have had disastrous effects once morning came.  For his part, Mycroft didn’t for a moment consider catching even a few minutes of sleep, not that his mind or body would have let permitted it if he’d tried.  There was too much to do, too much to think about and too much temptation to use the phone he’d been continuously fingering once again to check on Lestrade’s condition.  It was only by thinking about who he would need to speak with to get his information that he was able to quell his desire and refocus on his work.  

As he was preparing another in the endless line of cups of tea he had consumed during the night, Mycroft had to stop and smile at the humming he could suddenly hear approaching the kitchen.  Happy, enthusiastic humming that only person he knew could make at that hour of the morning.

      “Ah, Arthur… I trust I find you well rested this morning?”

      “Hi Mycroft!  Actually you do.  I didn’t really want to go to sleep last night, but Skip reminded me that today was going to be a big day and I needed every bit rest I could get.”

      “Was that all he did?”

      “Well, he may have sung me a song or two.”

      “It is heartening to know that the value of a lullaby does not diminish with one’s age.”

      “Not at all!  Wrapped up in blankets and snuggly-warm, a nice song in your ear… who wouldn’t fall asleep!  Of course I had to teach Skip some songs to sing, because he actually didn’t know any that would work very well, but that was brilliant since it means that every time he sings to me it’s a song I already like!”

Mycroft was not about to admit to making a mental note to research the relaxation value of song, but if he, by chance, happened to attempt that strategy with his own troubled or anxious partner, no one would be the wiser.

      “Did Doctor Sam call?  Is Greg awake?  Are we leaving to see him soon?  Does he need anything?  Greg, I mean, but I suppose Doctor Sam might need something, too, since he was there all night and it would be a bit rude to show up with a nice treat for Greg and not have anything for Doctor Sam.  What _can_ we bring Doctor Sam?”

A muzzle and a tranquilizer if Mycroft had his way.

      “I feel certain he has access to all of his requirements and we need not concern ourselves with his comfort.  As to your inquiry about Gregory, there has been no news of late, however, if he had experienced a downturn during the night, we would have been notified.”

      “I don’t suppose you could call and give a little check anyway, could you?”

Since it would be cruel, nigh on inhumane, to allow Arthur’s worry to continue unabated, one small phone call would not be amiss.  Of course, the owner of the purposeful footsteps he heard approaching the kitchen might disagree.

      “Doctor Watson!  You got here just in time!  We were just going to call and check on Greg and I’m sure you want to know as soon as we do if he’s ok.”

      “Well, everything was fine when I called last night and I’ll warn you… Sam told me that if anyone called again and disturbed Greg’s rest he was going to have something long and barbed lubed up and ready for insertion when we finally made an appearance.  The problem with him is that you really can’t ever be sure he’s kidding.”

      “Oh… well, then perhaps we should at least wait until we’ve had tea.  Or coffee.  Maybe coffee would be best.  Very strong coffee.”

Arthur scurried deeper into the kitchen and got more water boiling, a pot of coffee brewing and began examining the cabinets, pantry and refrigerator in preparation of starting breakfast.

      “John…”

      “I honestly can’t argue with him, Mycroft.  Every time we call is a disturbance and the fewer of those the better.  I can promise you, though, that if we’ve not heard anything it’s very good news.  My advice is get everyone fed and clothed, then wander over to the hospital at a reasonable hour.  If Greg’s not up by then, at least everyone’s at ease and ready  for the long sit-and-wait.”

If there was one thing Mycroft Holmes despised, it was someone else being right.  It should be declared both illegal and immoral.

      “If your professional judgment deems that course of action prudent, then I will, of course, agree.”

      “Don’t hurt yourself forcing those words out of your mouth.”

      “Perish the thought.  And… yes, I do believe we are about to receive company.”

In the form of two scowling faces who looked as if they had declared war against the clock and it had won this battle despite their best efforts.

      “This is intolerable!  On the rare occasion that my body _does_ require sleep, it appreciates being given what it requires in full measure!”

      “Why am I awake at bugger-off in the morning when I don’t have to fly?

Arthur raced over to give his yawning fiancé a quick kiss on his forehead and John… laughed at the taller cousin who was yawning just as widely.

      “Ah, the royal princesses have risen.  Fortunate are we who are blessed to bask in their glory.”

      “Shut it, Mycroft!”

      “Piss off, Mycroft!”

      “Arthur, do tell me that cousin Martin’s voice is not so shrill when he serenades you to sleep.”

      “Oh no!  Skip has a beautiful lullaby voice.  It’s soft and hardly squeaks at all!”

Martin and Sherlock dropped very dramatically into chairs and Arthur quickly set cups of coffee in front of them.

      “I will assume there is no news to share, else the report would have been provided upon our arrival.”

John took the seat next to his partner, after securing himself a cup of tea.

      “Not yet, but I’m happy for it.  No news is good news.  We were just talking about that, actually.  Best plan is to just eat, get scrubbed and show up to the hospital afterwards.  Actually, I do want to take a moment to check Greg’s room before we go.  I can consult with Sam about the best setup to have in place for when Greg arrives, which I hope won’t be too long from now.”

      “And I want to start putting up pictures, though that can wait until a bit later since I have breakfast to make right now and I don’t want to burn the scones.  The beans get sort of dry when that happens.”

      “He’s not coming home today, Arthur, so this evening will be fine.  Anyway…”

The entire kitchen came to a silent standstill when Mycroft’s mobile sounded in his pocket and Mycroft felt the complete fool slowly and carefully drawing it from his trousers and eking out a very hesitant hello.

      “Give the phone to Arthur.”

      “I beg… I must have misunderstood…”

      “Now.  Or I hang up.”

      “That is extortion!”

      “Yeah, it is.  But good luck prosecuting me.  I’m counting to three…”

Mycroft growled out his frustration and handed the mobile to Arthur, who had to shove down his panic before answering.

      “Hello?  Arthur Shappey speaking.”

      “Arthur, it’s Sa… Doctor Sam.  Now, I’ve got a few questions to ask and I’d like you to help me.  Think you can do that?”

      “I… yes!  I can answer questions, in fact, I really like to answer questions, as long as I understand them, which can sometimes be a problem if the person who is asking isn’t very clear or talks extremely fast and…”

      “Sounds great and I promise to talk slowly.  Now, first one, and you have to answer yes or no for all of these, ok?  If it’s a little of both you can say yes and no and I’ll understand.  Got that?”

      “Yes!”

      “Good job!  First one, did John eat anything last night?”

      “Yes!”

      “Did he get any sleep?”

      “Oh… what do I do if I don’t actually know, not even to say yes and no?”

      “I guess saying you don’t know works.”

      “Then I don’t know.”

      “Nice.  Does he look tired?”

      “N…No.”

      “Circles under his eyes?”

      “No.”

      “Sherlock looking worried at all?  Maybe cutting eyes over at John and frowning?”

      No and no.”

      “Great.  Now, did Mycroft eat last night?”

      “Yes!”

      “Ok, and did he get any sleep?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “That’s fine.  Does he look tired?”

      “Oh… I think I have to say yes.”

      “Circles under the eyes?  Skin a little pasty?”

      “Yes and yes… that’s not good, is it?”

      “You just let me worry about that.  Now, and this isn’t a yes or no so answer however you want.  What are you guys doing right now?”

      “Oh!  I’m getting breakfast ready and the others are having tea, well Mycroft and Doctor Watson are having tea and Skip and Mr. Sherlock are having coffee, but…”

      “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.  Arthur, you have been a big help.  Thanks a lot.  Now, could you hand the phone back to Mycroft?  I don’t want to keep you from your cooking.”

      “Oh… yes!  I do have rather a lot to do.  Can I ask though… is… well…”

      “He’s fine and you can see him soon.  In fact… I may have seen someone opening his eyes a little while ago.”

      “Really?  BRILLIANT!  Oh!  That’s wonderful!  Here’s Mycroft… I have to go and check on my scones and the squashes and… brilliant!  Do you need anything though, Doctor Sam?  I can bring you something, if you need something and…”

      “I’ll take one of those scones and if you’ve got a thermos, fill it up with coffee.  How’s that sound?”

Like what Arthur was put on Earth to accomplish.

      “Brilliant!  I’ll get that ready as soon as we’re done.  And I’ll make the coffee fresh.  Do you like it strong?”

      “If it won’t take rust off a bumper, I don’t want it.”

      “I have been told something quite like that about my coffee.”

      “Then make it two thermoses.”

      “I will!  Oh, Mycroft is looking a bit anxious.  Or cross.  I’m not sure which, so I’ll give him you back to him.  Bye Doctor Sam!  I’ll see you soon and tell Greg hi, too!”

      “I will, Arthur.  Now pass me back to the Tower of Glower.”

Mycroft had to wait for Arthur to stop giggling to retrieve his mobile.

      “If you…”

      “You stupid son of a bitch.  Not one second of sleep, huh?  What good did _that_ do you?”

      “Not that it is any of your concern, but there were matters to be attended to and…”

      “And they could have waited.  Arthur could tell you looked like five miles of bad road; how do you think your man here’s going to feel when you show up looking like hell?  Guilty!  That’s how he’s going to feel and it won’t matter if it was his fault or not.  Are you physically incapable of following advice or are you just a stubborn asshole who cares less about himself and the man he loves than saying fuck you to the people who are trying to help?”

 Mycroft felt himself going red with rage before the central core of the doctor’s rant slammed him in the chest.  If Gregory noticed that he had denied himself any rest or care, he _would_ feel the guilt, though it be none of his doing.  Guilt, in addition to the extreme stress of his renewed debilitation… and _he_ had not given the matter any thought.  He had failed to properly evaluate the situation and foresee the consequences of his decisions.

      “Since you haven’t blown up on me, I’m guessing you’re realizing you screwed up and are applying enough kicks to your head to cave in your skull.  Now, here’s what you’re going to do.  You’re going to take a good shower and finish up with it nice and cold to refresh your skin.  You are going to consume enough caffeine to kill a mule so you don’t give off tired signals that his cop’s senses are going to pick up on.  You’re going to lie to him when he asks if you got sleep, but you can include how it was _so hard_ to sleep without him there with you or something equally as sappy and romantic.  And you will stay after everybody else has gone home and do something romantic and sappy and sort of sexy to remind him that you not only care for him, you _want_ him.  And if you fuck up again I swear that I am going to make you so sorry you did you won’t be able to sit down for a goddam month!  Now give the phone to John, go eat something and do not show up here, any of you, for at least another hour if not more.”

It was all Mycroft could do to hand over his mobile without having it accidentally fly out of his hand at high velocity to create a large hole in his kitchen wall.  If anything from that insufferable man… _anything_ … was not for the best interests of his Gregory, there would be another unmarked grave in a pauper’s field in a forgotten town…

      “Sam, can you please not send Mycroft’s blood pressure through the roof.  He looks like he’s about to stroke.”

      “And I blame you.  You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on him.”

      “Me?”

      “Yes, you.  If I’m not there to do it, then it’s your job.”

      “You just met him yesterday!”

      “So what?  He’s instrumental to my patient’s welfare, so now I have to watch out that he doesn’t do anything to compromise all my hard work.  He’s apparently too pompous to listen to me, so you have to take up the slack.  Would you at least make sure he doesn’t show up here looking like death warmed over and punching a hole in what little bit of good cheer I’ve got going on?  I’m glad you actually paid attention and got yourself taken care of properly, but it would help your pal if he knows that _everyone_ is in good shape.”

      “So Greg had a quiet night?”

      “Slept, and that’s pretty much it.  I’ve updated his chart, so you’ll have the details, but he did very well, considering.  I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you could bust him out of here pretty quickly, truth be told.  In fact I’d recommend it.  Nothing is going to make him happier than being surrounded by friendly walls and getting some assurance that he’s where he’s going to be for, at least, a somewhat permanent basis.  Every bit of security he can get right now is going to help him out a lot.”

      “Ok… we can talk about that when I get there.”

      “Which won’t be right away.  Seriously, give me a little more time to get him ready to have visitors.”

      “How long?”

      “At least an hour.  Two would be better.”

John drew in a deep breath and knew that if Sam was asking for time, there was a reason and that reason was likely that _Greg_ had asked for it.  And it would give _him_ the time he wanted to check over the arrangements for the in-home care and make sure that certain individuals were in good shape before showing up for their visit so _he_ didn’t get his arse chewed to the bone by the resident attack dog.

      “We can do that.  Anything you need?”

      “Arthur’s got me covered.”

      “That’s one of his many strengths.”

      “And I’m looking forward to finding out the others.  See you later.”

John didn’t bother to respond because he knew he’d be talking to a dead line.

      “Doctor Watson, is there any extra news besides Greg’s ok?”

Martin was helping Arthur get the table set and John took the initiative to refresh everyone’s morning drinks.

      “Not really.   He had a good night and you can see for yourself a little later.  Greg’s… getting a few medical things done right now so there’s no hurry for us to get there.  There’s even time to start putting up some of your pictures, if you’d like.”

      “Brilliant!  That would be super!  Skip, you’ll help me with that, right?”

      “I will gladly hold the tape for you, Arthur.”

      “And Mr. Sherlock can help hang my snowflakes because he can probably reach the ceiling easier than you or Doctor Watson.  Mycroft can help with that, too, or start on drawing some new pictures.”

      “I believe, instead, that I shall assist with orchestrating the placement of your works of art.  And directing Sherlock for proper snowflake positioning.”

Mycroft sometimes wondered if Sherlock’s death glares were actually fuel for his soul because he never failed to feel invigorated after receiving his brother’s best effort.

      “That’s good, too.  Oh, and the scones are ready.  Everybody have a seat and I’ll get the butter and jam and oh… do you have any horseradish?”

      “I do apologize, but I believe my supply has been depleted.  However, I am certain we shall make do without that particular condiment quite nicely.”

      “Alright then, but it won’t be quite as good for opening up your nose to get a big breath of morning air.”

      “A sacrifice, to be sure, but one we shall surely weather admirably.”

__________

Even though he knew he’d see white when he opened his eyes, it ate a little hole in Lestrade’s stomach to find himself still in a hospital room, hooked up to machines and feeling the thick-headed haze of the drugs in his IV.  Because of the last, it took him a moment to realize that he didn’t feel as… _something_ … as he had before his nap.

      “Well, I was going to let you have another few minutes but it looks like you’re awake and ready to go.  I called your admirers a few minutes ago and John’s agreed to take the slow boat getting here, but I got the ball rolling already.  The nurses have been fighting to give you a sponge bath since you arrived, so I auctioned off your body and made a few bucks getting you cleaned up.  Try not to feel too violated but I think someone on staff’s got a new background image for their phone and hint… it’s not your face.  Anyway, if you’re willing to cooperate, we can get you suited up and maybe get a little television time under our belts before The Little Rascals invade.  Put you in the mood for handling a room full of company.  I’ll go ahead and get started and, if you feel like I’m getting too personal getting you dressed, just lay back and enjoy it because only special people get to feel Doctor Sam’s magic hands.”

If all doctors would treat him this way, Lestrade decided going in for a physical or getting a patch-up wouldn’t be so bad.  He’d gotten a name now, too, and he liked it.  Good and regular.  Solid and no-nonsense, which was why, in a few minutes and with only a little grunting from unexpected twinges of pain, he was wearing a regular-person’s robe over his miserable gown and there were at least a pair of heavier socks on his feet.   A small puff of air and he could see few wisps of hair move, so they weren’t weighed down from too much grease and he also couldn’t feel that nasty greasy feeling on his face.  All in all, he had to say he felt far more presentable that had had for quite awhile and, though he had no idea why, it made him feel just a little more in command of himself.

As did watching some very crap telly and ogling pictures of the newest model cars from the magazine the doctor had with him.  All in all, Lestarde didn’t feel like a man who’d just gotten cut open and had his insides shoved this way and that, which was a tremendous help when the door burst open and a very excited Arthur Shappey came running through.

      “GREG!  YOU’RE AWAKE!  This is brilliant!  Doctor Watson said you’d probably be awake today, but I didn’t want to think about it and jinx you, so I did my best not to and here you are.  Awake!  And you’ve got a nice robe, too, which is important because it always seems to be a bit cold in these rooms and now you’ll be warm.  And… yes!  Socks are very helpful.  I brought you some fuzzy ones, too, if you need them.  Oh, and Doctor Sam!  I brought you your scone and Mycroft only had one container for the coffee, so I made it doubly strong so it’s like having two containers all put into one!”

 Arthur handed over his breakfast offering and smiled widely when the scone was plucked out of the bag and consumed in two large bites, with a double thumbs-up coming after the last crumb had been swallowed.  While the coffee was being poured into the large cup that Arthur had also brought with him, the steward made his own examination of Lestrade’s condition and settled in to recount all of the details of their activities from when the group had left the hospital the previous day up until the moment they arrived back.  John took the opportunity to perform all necessary medical checks, then dragged his coffee-gulping counterpart out into the hall before the disgruntled man could launch into a lecture, rant, diatribe, or whatever he had in store for him or Mycroft.  Martin pulled a chair over and directed Arthur to take a seat to continue the conversation, then simply took his place behind him, hands on his fiancé’s shoulders, letting his Arthur release his anxiety in his own particular way.  Sherlock was not so content to simply stand and wait and began examining Lestrade’s medical chart, snorting and scoffing at nearly every piece of data he read.  And, for his part, Mycroft simply drew over his own chair and sat near the bed, tightly gripping his Gregory’s hand and letting the touch provide all the reassurance that a medical chart or a doctor’s word could never equal.

When John returned alone, Mycroft cocked an eyebrow but John just grinned and snatched the chart out of his partner’s protesting hands.

      “He said I could stop being a ‘lazy shit’ and actually try to be a doctor for a change.  That’s his way of saying he was going home for a shower and a nap.  Don’t worry, I gave him a suitable thank you gesture for his efforts.  Oh, and Arthur?  Sam said your coffee was exactly what he needed.”

Arthur’s face lit up brightly and the general discussion turned towards cooking, which led to eating, which led, somehow, to swimming and the tone of the day was officially set.  Everyone present talked and argued and Lestrade watched and listened, offering what little he could to the conversation, though it didn’t matter if he said anything at all.  Just being part of things again was… a relief.  The time to himself had been necessary, and he had a feeling it would _often_ be necessary as he worked through all of his issues, but, right now, the camaraderie was helping him feel connected to the world again.  Not adrift or cast off.  Not, as he very, very secretly feared, abandoned or forgotten.

Through it all, Mycroft said very little, content to wait his turn until he could have his Detective Inspector’s attention solely for himself and it was several hours before he was able to persuade the others to take the rest of the day for relaxation, Sherlock and John finally returning to Baker Street and Martin and Arthur taking a car and starting their new round of sightseeing.   The evening would bring everyone together again for a visit before ending the day, but the intervening hours would be spent with couples spending concentrated time alone, which pleased Mycroft greatly.  Especially since he was now, again, able to be an active part of a couple.

      “I believe the phrase is something akin to ‘we have to stop meeting like this.’  And I would be most happy if that were truly the case, my dear.” 

      “You and me b…both.”

      “Are you fatigued, Gregory?  Perhaps a small rest…”

      “No.  Just talk to m…me.”

      “If you wish.  I have found that activity is one of my greatest joys and I do find pleasure in indulging my joys.”

There would be time to say he loved him.  There would be time to discuss how much he had worried.  There would be unlimited time to share his feelings of guilt and remorse.  But the weakened, yet still scintillatingly-wicked grin on his love’s face as Mycroft ran a hand under his robe and gown to stroke the naked and muscular thigh under the cloth told him that now was the time for other things.  Nothing stressful or strenuous.  Perhaps nothing more than well-chosen words and simple, though intimate caresses, but they were the right things to do in this time and place.

Along with contemplating the most painful method of bringing his arrogant, know-it-all nemesis quaking to his knees…


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I consider this Chapter 4 Part 1, with Part 2 coming up soon. Regardless, I again want to extend my thanks for all of the wonderful encouragement and kind words people have left for me. I appreciate every comment and kudo very, very greatly...

And finally he was sleeping.  Mycroft had initially been surprised at the vigor with which his Detective Inspector fought to remain awake, but in hindsight it made perfect sense.  Although rest was the best balm for Gregory’s physical health, his mental health might suffer from so much time unaware of the world around him.  And from fearing the possibility of never waking again.

      “Napping.  Napping is good.  See how happy he is sleeping?  _You_ could be that happy and then you’d be happy together like little kids in a sandbox.  Minus sand in your shorts and the cat shit.”

      “Does anyone ever understand a word of your prattle?”

      “I admit it’s sort of an issue, but since my normal vocabulary out of the scrubs is _you_ , _bed_ , _now_ , _sex_ , I get by pretty well.”

Mycroft had never actually beaten a human being to death with his umbrella, but the urge to enter virgin territory was rising.

      “How did his day go?”

And now falling, because no amount of irritation would prevent him from sharing important information about his Gregory’s welfare, even if his current health-care provider was a baboon.

      “Very well, I believe.  He seemed buoyed by the visitations in the morning and the promise of more this evening.  Beyond that, we simply conversed on non-stressful topics and passed a pleasant few hours before he succumbed to his fatigue.”

      “Normally I’d yell at you for keeping him awake that long, but I think further proof that he’s not dead and still desired was the more important thing.  You did make both of those clear to him, right?”

      “I shall, of course, not dignify that with a response.”

      “Atta boy!  See how well things go if you just listen to the experts.”

Insufferable man.  Though, Mycroft could not deny that the small bit of personal contact, though not precisely sexual in nature, appeared to greatly comfort and raise the spirits of his wounded partner.

      “You’re going to fight that a lot in the coming months, just so you know.  He’s going to rage against what his injuries make him look like, scream because he’ll lost weight and muscle, and what he loses will get replaced by fat even with his therapy, he’ll try to stay nicely dressed and presentable and realize he’s only doing it for you and his support staff who don’t really care and then give up because of the effort it involves, which will start another downward spiral.  He really won’t be ready for a good round of fun for a long time and he’s going to seethe with frustration, blaming you for not wanting him and blaming himself because you’re being neglected.  And that’s on top of the isolation where he can’t even catch someone giving him a quick once-over to top off his ego… your partner there is a good looking, fit man who’s going to hate himself very quickly and, no, you won’t be able to stop it.  You will, however, be able to help him with it if you’re willing and have the patience.  Now you may be a complete assclown about some things, but I don’t think willingness and patience with him is going to be a problem for you, so it’s gonna be ok in the long run.”

Mycroft was entirely unsure if the last piece was serious or sarcastic, so he settled for an apathetic glare and hoped that hit would elicit further information with which to make a decision.

      “You could just ask if I’m being serious or not, you know.”

Confound the barbarian!

      “You understand my uncertainty, of course.”

Mycroft had not wanted to prompt the villain to remain and certainly not to pull over a chair and have a seat next to him by his Gregory’s bed.  Was nothing this man did to expectations?

      “Look, Mr. Holmes.  I know I’m hard on you and I won’t apologize for it.  Honestly, if I thought you were a lost cause, I wouldn’t care and I’d be on John’s back to break you two up.  Again.  And don’t give me that look.  Johnny-boy didn’t give me any names or even hint about who he meant when he moaned about his friend who was being treated like crap by his lover,  but I’m not so dumb I can’t put pieces together on my own.  I’m guessing you’re pretty new to the whole ‘finding the other half of your soul’ thing and now… I’m afraid you’re going to have to become an expert pretty goddam quickly.  I know you’ve screwed up royally in the past and thought you had lots of time to make it all fine, but now… he’s going to be at his most breakable and you _cannot_ afford any major slip-ups.  Anyone else, yes, but you’ve got too much on your record already that I can assure you he’s still working through.  I don’t know how you two got back together after all of that business… John didn’t really fill me in during surgery… but there’s still going to be damage that needs repairing.  I don’t want to see you lose this chance, Mr. Holmes.  Either of you.  And if it means giving you a knock to the head to keep you from ruining things, I’m going to do it.”

Which part of that speech was the most troubling, Mycroft was not certain; however, one tiny portion did stand out as notable – he wasn’t being discounted as beyond hope or beyond the desire of the infuriating doctor to act on that hope.  Apparently, not _all_ of the boorish inanity was for the madman’s amusement and Mycroft had no firm idea how he truly felt about that.

      “So you cut that up and eat it in bite-sized chunks.  Once the rest stop by tonight, let them have a nice time but try and send them home at a reasonable hour.  If Mr. Lestrade gets enough rest, it may only be a day or so before I see his ass being carried out the front door, providing, of course, you’ve got his room set up as nicely as John says you do.  You can stay tonight, if you want to, but then you go home in the morning.  Someone can sit during the day, that’s fine, but I don’t want you here 24/7.  Mr. Lestrade knows that you want to be here.  He knows that you care.  And he knows you’ve got other tacos in your bag, so if you’re not glued to his side, he’s not going to think you love him any less.”

If only Mycroft could be entirely sure of that fact.

      “I… I have neglected him unforgivably on more occasions than you can possibly imagine.”

      “And what have you learned from that?”

Mycroft stared at his sleeping partner and wondered if he could put into words all he had learned from his experiences.  In truth, he was not completely comfortable assuming that what he thought he had learned was in any way correct.

      “Well, you think about it and answer me sometime if you want to.”

The tall doctor unfolded himself from his chair and patted the sleeping Lestrade on the leg before taking a quick look at his chart and strolling out of the door while whistling, much to Mycroft’s extreme annoyance.  Perhaps not Siberia… perhaps a small practice on a remote island off the Canadian coast.  At least the man would likely be fluent in the language.

__________

The hours that his partner slept were busy ones for the elder Holmes and he received more than one angry look from hospital staff that found their lounge unavailable for use as Mycroft confiscated it for temporary meeting room, because if there was a new unofficial rule currently circulating through the various levels of government, it was that taking one step towards the room that housed Mycroft Holmes’s… no one was sufficiently courageous to venture a term for the man… _interest_ would result in very unhappy consequences for the offender.  And it was with a sharp pang of unfocused guilt that Mycroft found his Gregory already awake when he returned to the room after a particularly ire-provoking conversation about a nation who he would glad subject to a nuclear strike if the environmentalists wouldn’t take up their picket signs and start singing their wretched folk songs in retribution.

      “Let me g…guess.  Work.  Or Sherlock.”

      “You are becoming quite skilled at reading my moods, my dear.  And it was a small matter of business that need not trouble you.  That Sherlock will be arriving at some point, however, _should_ for his behavior does seem to escalate in intensity when he has been graced with the comforts of home.”

      “Puts on qu…quite the show.”

      “That he does.  Now, how are you feeling?”

      “Ok… little fuzzy.”

      “We may attribute that, I believe, to your medication.  I shall speak to John on your behalf.  The intention was to lower your medication levels upon our arrival, therefore, I would expect this current situation to have only set back the clock by a slight amount.  I have been told, in point of fact, that you could be released to… to come home in but a day or two.”

It was still nearly inconceivable to Mycroft that he would soon have the Detective Inspector in his home.  Which would now be _their_ home.  It struck Mycroft, then, that the times Lestrade had been a visitor in his residence, the atmosphere had been tainted.  Pleasurable, on balance, but not a fully comfortable experience.  He would make it a priority of his life to make the man he loved so dearly never feel anything but welcome and wanted in his new residence.  And if he chose to modify the décor, at least it would not be the horrifying change that he had happily ordered removed and sold just days before they were to arrive and start their new life together.

      “You… you still want me there?”

If there was not a teasing smile on the Detective Inspector’s lips, Mycroft would have launched into a lecture that may have lasted until morning.

      “In truth, I have little choice.  Your flat is no longer available and my conscience would not stand the burden of strolling through the park each day to see you sleeping on a bench.”

      “Good of you.”

      “And I suppose, if I am pressed to consider, it will be pleasant to be able to share the evenings with a companionable individual, enjoying a film or good book in front of the fire.  Well, in your case, a tome filled with lurid tales involving creatures from Mars perpetrating robberies of Earth’s gold depositories or storehouses of virgin females.”

      “Yes, please.”

And he would smile while reading it, likely tossing and turning on the sofa, caught up in the whirlwind of his fiction and Mycroft would savor every moment for the precious things they were.

      “If such a title is not yet in existence, I shall have it scripted for your enjoyment.  And… I do believe I hear the sound of approaching footsteps.  Are you quite fit for visitors, my dear?  It is no trouble if you are not.”

      “I’m fine.  F…few hours won’t hurt.”

      “I was rather considering a few _minutes_ , however, I shall defer to your judgment.  Do expect, though, me to intervene if I observe you are attempting to deceive your visitors with a false veil of good cheer.”

      “Whatever you s… say, Mum.”

      “You have spoken fondly of your mother, so I am content with the association.”

And wasn’t it fortunate that Mycroft could end with the last word, since Arthur chose that moment to burst through the door with his biggest grin and arms full of colorful bags.

      “Greg!  I hoped you were awake!  You’re the only one without a shirt!”

Lestrade had no idea what Arthur was talking about until he pulled out a large and brightly colored shirt decorated with legions of tropical birds.”

      “Skip and I went to the zoo, which is one of my absolute favorite places to go, and the last time I went, with Mr. Sherlock that time, not with Skip because he wasn’t quite well, what with… things… and I made sure everyone got a lovely shirt, but I didn’t know you then, so you didn’t get one.  This time I made sure you go yours!  One day we’ll all have to wear our zoo shirts and take a photo.  I’ll put this over here and spread it out so you can see it since you can’t wear it right now.”

      “Gregory shall cut a fine figure in your choice of apparel, Arthur.  I am very sure he will receive numerous compliments when he sports it in public.”

      “He will!  Oh, and I have pictures!  Lots of pictures.  Would you like to see?”

Mycroft smiled as Arthur drew out his phone, Martin released a massive sigh and the two drew up seats so that Arthur could share his photos with the bedridden Lestrade.  And that was how Sherlock and John found them when they arrived an hour later.

      “John, this shall not be a quiet visit as you promised.  We must leave now.”

      “Pay him no attention, we’ve had a busy day.  Mrs. Hudson was very anxious to hear about our trip to Fitton, she sends her best, by the way, Greg and will be by at some point to say hello.  Then we had to do strenuous things like shopping and laundry, well _I_ did those strenuous things and he informed me how I was doing them wrong.”

      “You are completely random in your route!  If you simply planned, these ridiculous errands would take you half the time.”

      “You know, John, there’s plenty of good you could do in Fitton.  Come back with us and we’ll get you set up.  I’m sure Carolyn would be happy to have a man with a medical degree as a paying lodger.”

      “I’ll keep that in mind.  Let me check on the old pitiful one first, though. Sherlock go and look at Arthur’s photos while I see if anyone snuck in and removed Greg’s bollocks while he was sleeping.  You can’t be too sure sometimes.”

      “There here.  M…Mycroft already checked.”

      “Gregory, please.”

      “Oh, good.  That’s one test I won’t have to worry about.  So, it’ll just be the prostate exam and…”

      “Y…you’re fired.”

      “I’m crushed.  But I’ll have the last laugh since the only other person who will deal with your miserable arse is Sam and that isn’t a fate I’d wish on anyone.”

      “Why not, Doctor Watson?  Doctor Sam is very nice and I’m sure he’d do a wonderful job taking care of Greg.”

      “Oh he would.  And Greg would get that nice gender-reassignment surgery he’s been wanting.”

      “Really?  I wouldn’t have thought Greg would want to be a lady, but there are a lot women in the police and they seem to do a brilliantly, so he won’t have a problem doing his job, I suppose.”

      “Arthur, do not encourage John’s juvenile attempts at humor.  It is tiresome enough that he tries to perpetrate his version of wit when we are alone, but when presented with an audience his behavior escalates intolerably.”

      “If by intolerable, you mean award-winning levels of comedy, then I agree.”

      “And another data point is added to the graph.”

      “Fitton, John.  We’re not the biggest city in the land, but at least we don’t have a Sherlock.”

      “Skip, be nice.  If Mr. Sherlock lived it Fitton, it would be brilliant!  I already need to find a second job so we can have our little house or flat or wherever we’re going to live after the WEDDING or before if Mum won’t be too lonely and what better job than working for Mr. Sherlock as another assistant in his detective business?” 

Mycroft was happy to see the Detective Inspector looked as displeased as he was from Arthur’s mention of taking on an additional job.  There would be a discussion on this matter when the younger generation had taken their leave.  For now, they would be content to enjoy the continuing conversation, the laughter, the occasional shocked outburst and it was with true regret that Mycroft finally had to declare the evening finished.  Although the Detective Inspector had valiantly maintained an active role in the discussions, he was obviously fading quickly.

      “Can I stay?  I’ll be very quiet, just sitting here with my phone and… see!... I have earphones so I can watch a movie if you want to fall asleep, too, and I won’t disturb anyone.”

      “How very thoughtful of you, however, I was advised that Gregory should be left alone this evening and I am loathe to discount medical advice at this delicate juncture of his recovery.”

      “Oh!  Well, if that’s the case then I’m taking back my asking if I can stay and saying that I can’t and asking Skip to take me home instead.  Are you coming, too, Mycroft?”

      “I am exempt from the medical edict…although, I will have to take my leave in the morning to tend to certain matters.  Perhaps you could return at that point and entertain Gregory in my absence.”

      “That sounds great!  Skip and I were going to go on a little tour I found a brochure for, but we could do that…”

      “I shall return in the morning, Arthur.  You may, if you wish, replace me in the afternoon after the completion of your tour.”

Sherlock very nonchalantly ignored the eyes staring at him, until John cleared his throat and tapped him on the shoulder.

      “Well then, that’s settled.  We’ll go home for now and Sherlock will take the morning shift here, which works out well, since Sam’s working tonight and I can do the daytime checks when he gets off.  Greg, we’ll see you tomorrow.  Ready, Sherlock?”

      “More than ready, actually.  If I am to use my morning to provide minding services for Lestrade, I have details of my lymph experiment that I must attend to.”

      “Yeah, we can’t ignore the lymph.  Martin, Arthur… you coming?”

      “We can give you a ride in the great black beast, if you’d like.  Mycroft, Greg… have a good night.  Try not to embarrass us while we’re gone.”

      “No… no promises.”

      “Bye Mycroft!  Bye Greg!  We’ll see you tomorrow!  Oh, and I got some more things at the zoo for you room, Greg, so I’ll put those in tonight.  Skip, would it be alright if we stopped for me to get some new pens?  I want to put some more drawings up, too, and I can work on those while we watch a film tonight.”

      “Pens won’t be a problem.  John, any errands you need running?”

      “Actually, a quick stop for take away wouldn’t be a bad idea.”   

      “Oh!  Maybe we can all get something to eat together!  Can we?”

      “I don’t know, love, Sherlock’s got his phlegm to work on…”

      “Lymph!”

      “His lymph to work on and we don’t want to get in the way of that.”

      “A stop for a meal will pacify John, which, in turn, will make my work easier to accomplish.  I, therefore, have no objection.”

      “Hurray!  And next time Mycroft and Greg can come too.”

Arthur waved one last wave and pulled Martin along, Sherlock and John following close behind.  The sudden quiet was peaceful, but Mycroft was coming to find it somewhat _atypical_.  How odd that in such a short time he could come to find the sustained sound of chatter a comforting thing.

      “Pity… the poor server.”

      “I can assure you that their gratuity will be well earned, but bountiful.”

      “And what about me?  Any ch…chance of something meaty and juicy coming _my_ way?”

      “Gregory Lestrade, can you ever deny your lascivious nature?”

      “Actually, you perv, I was t…talking about a steak.”

      “I do beg your pardon.  Though I believed myself immune, I seem to have become contaminated by your lustful inclinations.”

      “How’s it feel?”

      “Surprisingly agreeable.”

__________

Mycroft feigned the need to make a call and in the few minutes he stepped out of the room, Lestrade, as Mycroft predicted, fell asleep.  He had let the others stay too long, really, but it was so very difficult to act against what was so obviously a source of joy for all involved.  How amusing that he made decisions that acted against the wishes and welfare of countless individuals on a daily basis, but bringing a gathering to a close because it was creating happiness was nearly too difficult to bear.

For the rest of the day, the elder Holmes tended to matters of varying degrees of importance, managing his Detective Inspector’s infrequent periods of hazy wakefulness and requests for water or a few moments of conversation before he fell back to sleep and enduring the occasional appearance of his nemesis, who did nothing more than look through the window and make a rude gesture.  If Mycroft wasn’t certain that was an indication that nothing was amiss, they would be having words at some point in the future.

And it was not great surprise when Sherlock arrived at a ridiculously-early hour, likely with no sleep to his credit and only a brief shower and change of clothes to mark the transition from yesterday to today.  However, he did have tea, which Mycroft confiscated as a matter of national importance, ignoring his brother’s very indignant snort.

      “And where is your doctor this fine morning?”

      “Asleep.  After the meal, Arthur and Martin, through some amalgam of requests and invitations, returned with us to Baker Street for a film, which ran well into the night.  I suspect John shall not join me for several more hours, at minimum.”

      “Ah.  You were able to enjoy a successful night of entertainment with another couple.  That is quite the achievement, Sherlock.  I believe congratulations are in order.”

      “That is more than you have ever managed, so I am not surprised your simmering envy is choosing to manifest itself in your sophomoric sarcasm.”

      “In truth, the congratulations are most sincere, though I shall admit to a mote of jest, as well.  And I am certain that upon Gregory’s recovery, our social calendar will be quite busy.”

      “Neither of you will likely spend more than a few  evenings together per week, owing to your schedules, so I do not anticipate that I shall find your names routinely mentioned in the society pages.”

      “How pessimistic you are, though I will agree that I did exaggerate my desire to become a fixture of London society.  I am more than content to spend my free time at home with Gregory, barring the pleasurable bit of diversion we seek in the city.”

      “Do not assume, however, that you and I shall engage in any form of mutually-involved recreation simply because John and Lestrade are cordial.”

      “That thought is deadening in every possible manner.  I have no intention of wasting precious time that could be spent agreeably with Gregory in pursuits that involve you and your propensity for draining the enjoyment out of even the most jubilant experience.”

      “You are simply concerned that shared recreational time would strain your ability to mimic the behaviors of a documentable human being to the point where your vacant existence as a cold and dead government drone was placed sharply on display.  Lestrade would be forced to flee in horror, which could actually be amusing to watch as his impaired mobility and your overfilled flesh would make it a very slow race for his freedom.”

      “At least Gregory’s legs are sufficient lengthy that he can match me step for step, unlike a certain Army doctor I shall not name out of respect for his services to me.”

      “John may not possess the loftiest stature, however, his level of fitness and stamina ensure that any physical demands I place upon him will be met, exceeded even, with only the most minimal effort.”

      “Gregory’s cunning allows him to anticipate, therefore he would not have to follow along behind me, swatting my coattails out of his vision.”

      “John…”

      “You are one more word away from a time out, Mr. Holmes.  And you, crap, you’re both Mr. Holmes, aren’t you, well you, Skinny know better than to bait him when he is, apparently, completely incapable of ignoring the bait.  It’s like shooting fish in a barrel and I didn’t take you for the cheap win kind of guy.  And you can wipe that smirk right off of your face, boy.  If you didn’t go out of your way to be a pain in the ass to him, he wouldn’t take so much pleasure from winding you up.  Now, Skinny is leaving to go do whatever it is he does and if you’re going to stay, you’re going to be good or find out how fast I can have you strapped down for a coffee enema.  You just sit there and think of the very nasty things that’ll do to you innards and I’ll be back in few minutes to check on my patient.”

Sherlock knew the meaning of that ridiculous pantomime of spread fingers pointing between his eyes and the doctor’s and scoffed that he was supposed to take it seriously.  The coffee threat, however, he was inclined to give some degree of attention.

      “And I leave you under the watchful eye of the kindly Doctor Harris, a fate you very richly deserve.  If I am required, do not hesitate to contact me and do inform Gregory that I shall return this evening.”

Mycroft gave his sleeping partner a small kiss on his forehead and very reluctantly left him in Sherlock’s questionable care.

      “Finally.  I do not for a moment understand how you find anything acceptable in Mycroft, Lestrade.  He is officious, callous, completely lacking in either humor or…”

      “Finish that thought and you’ll feel a good thump on that precious head of yours.  Your brother is a little stiff, but he’s got a damn good heart and those two care about each other so much it’s sickening.  So stop being a little brat and try being supportive for a change.”

      “I find it rather presumptuous of you to make any comment on how…”

      “First, I’ve gotten plenty of details out of John over time to know exactly how much of a pissy little pain in the ass you can be to your brother, not that he doesn’t deserve it sometimes.  And second, I know what it’s like to have a little brother who likes to point out everything he thinks is wrong with you and, since you can’t beat him to a pulp, you have to sit there and watch him blow free raspberries and dance like a monkey to mock you.  Just give it a try for a change, ok?”

      “I have little inclination to agree, however, it would likely benefit Lestrade’s health if he was not subject to Mycroft’s pathetic attempts to defend himself from my superior witticisms.”

      “Wow, you are the most wonderful man in the world.”

      “I am glad you have become enlightened to that fact.”

      “I’ll touch the hem of your garment later.  Now, how about you tell me how things are going for _you_?”

Sherlock blinked back the surprise as he processed the question and watched the lanky American take a chair, fixing him with unsettlingly knowing eyes.

      “I have no idea about the subject you wish me to discuss.”

      “You have zero talent for deflection, you know that?  Ok, I’ll be so obvious a baby could understand.  You’re having to work through a good friend, someone very important to you, nearly being killed.  Twice.  I know you like to present an emotionless face to the world, but that’s a load of horseshit and it doesn’t fool me for an instant.  Hurts to face losing someone, doesn’t it?  Suddenly presented with the possibility of never seeing them again or saying one word to them?  Runs through your mind, all of the things you’ve said that you’d give your left nut to take back and all of the things you’d give your right nut to be able to say but you’ll never get a chance to.”

The surprise Sherlock felt now turned to shock and he found himself on the other side of being deduced, not liking it one bit.  It was one thing when Arthur tore down his walls, but handed him large bouquets of flowers and glasses of his infernal juice to soothe the pain of the demolition.  It was quite another when it was done with such calculated precision.

      “I know some of what Mr. Lestrade was to you, boy, and I can only imagine how it felt to see him lying on the ground with the life pouring out of him.  Actually, he didn’t really have any life by that point, did he?  That’s not an easy thing to live with, even when they make it through ok.  Especially when you have to go through it a second time just as you were beginning to think the worst was over.  So, I’m going to ask you again… how are _you_ doing?”

      “It is not something I wish to discuss.”

      “I’m sure you don’t, but that’s not really the point.  Have you at least talked to John?’

No, he hadn’t.  John did not need to be burdened by anything he may or may not feel about Lestrade’s condition.

      “Not a word, huh?  You and the skinny one… two headaches I really don’t need.  Talk with John, Mr. Holmes.  If you won’t talk to me, then at least talk to him.  Or your cousin or Arthur, don’t worry, I’m not stupid enough to suggest your brother, but talk to _someone_.   It’ll help.  You don’t think it will, probably can’t conceive of what would be different if you did, but it _will_ make a difference.  And not only for you, either.  You’re going to need to be able to interact with Mr. Lestrade in a way that’s good for him and if you’re carrying around unaddressed issues, you won’t be doing that.  And one day, if I have any say in the matter, he’ll be back on the job and you’re going to have to work together.  You do _not_ want anything interfering with that, do you?  So… my ears are open if you want to bend them.  Doesn’t matter when because I hear we’re pretty alike in our sleeping habits.  Ok, me being touchy-feely is officially over.  Here are the latest issues of a couple of pathology journals for your reading pleasure.  I’ll be back by later on to see how things are going, but if our friend here wakes up before then, just give me a buzz.  Here’s my number.  Use it.”

And in the next breath, Sherlock was alone with Lestrade, wondering how he could feel so completely naked wrapped in yards of tailored cloth.  He could only hope that John arrived soon.  John made things like this understandable.  Even if he didn’t share all the details of what was causing his upset…


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My continued gratitude for the very thoughtful and kind words... I appreciate them greatly!

Absolutely no mention would be made of the fact that Sherlock furiously read the journals with which he’d been gifted as they contained several articles of interest that helped to pass the time, especially since he had to scribe notes on them and conduct extra research for several points using his phone.  It was, therefore, not a surprise when he looked up to find John busily conducting medical business, something he had obviously been doing unnoticed for some minutes.

      “Found something to do, I see.  At least I don’t have to hear about how incredibly bored you were or work some damage control for what you got into to keep from _being_ bored.”

      “I would not leave Lestrade alone after giving my word to preserve him from the bodysnatching medical students.  However, I was given these to occupy my mind in the interim.  They sufficed.”

      “Journals… someone made a good call.  New ones, too.  And I take it Greg hasn’t done anything to spoil your reading.”

      “He has been quite considerate.”

      “Excellent.  For him and you both.  Now, I’m going to find Sam and tell him he’s relieved of duty for this post, at least.  I think he’s getting off shift soon and I may drag him away for some coffee, if that’s ok with you.”

      “I can think of nothing more pleasant that being rid of that meddlesome tapeworm.”

      “Wow, you usually reserve that description for your brother, so I guess the old bear stopped in for a little chat.”

      “He is bothersome.”

      “That he is, which is why it can be good to have him around.  He’s not afraid to go digging where he shouldn’t and find things that other people would rather keep to themselves.  Makes him a hell of a diagnostician.”

      “ _And_ a bother.”

      “You’re a bit stuck on that part, so I’m going to assume your chat wasn’t as little as I thought.”

      “Why did I not know about him previously?”

      “You didn’t pay attention, but maybe I also didn’t go out of my way to announce when I was going to grab a pint with him.”

      “For any particular reason?”

      “Not really.  No more than I make an announcement if I’m going out with Mike or an Army mate.”

      “For Stamford and your military brethren, I understand the connection that would draw you to their company.  I do not see that for this particular colleague.”

John had not especially wanted to discuss the subject of his association with Samuel Harris, especially not with Sherlock, but the narrowed eyes and predatory gaze told him that conversation was coming whether he liked it or not.

      “Fine.  I met Sam not long after you... left.  He’d just come from America and... I was asked to consult on an injury for a returned soldier and Sam was also brought in on the case.  We got along and he basically forced me to get out for a pint with him.  He’d done his own stint in the desert and we got to telling war stories, then talking about medicine.... then you.  He was the first person I ever talked to about you, Sherlock.  About how I really felt, I mean.  When the pub closed up, we just walked around and he let me pour out everything I’d kept bottled up so tightly it hurt sometimes, even before… well, before.  And he let me do it again and again if I need to every time we got together.  I never told one person that I loved you until he _made_ me say it… and then he made me realize that it was ok.  Even if I’d never told you, it was still ok for me to feel that way and mourn like a widower, because that was exactly how it felt.  He never let me just pretend or ignore or fool myself... if it wasn’t for him and Greg, I’m not really sure if I would have made it through those years.  At least not alive and whole.”

John wiped away the one stray bit of moisture on his face and breathed through his very unexpected release of emotion.  This was part of the reason he’d never been keen on Sherlock meeting Samuel Harris.  One, they were too much alike, in all of the aggravating ways, and two... well, that part was still aching in his chest, especially now that his lover was staring at him wearing a very heavy layer of guilt on his aristocratic features.

      “He... was beneficial to you.”

      “Yeah, you could say that.  He’s a complete bastard, but he cares and isn’t afraid to act on it, even if he sometimes steamrolls over you in the process.”

Ah, so that was the proper description for what he had been feeling… 

      “I was unaware that he had been of value to you while I… was otherwise occupied.  I shall offer my thanks when the time is suitable.”

      “Nah, don’t worry about it.  In fact, really don’t worry about it… he’ll probably launch into giving you all types of hell for doing what you did and you don’t need that.”

Which was something Sherlock wrestled with on occasion, mostly when he caught John in a quiet moment and the nature of his thoughts was evident.  What he did was _necessary_.  It saved the ones in his life he cared for.  But he could not deny that it was a harsh and brutal decision that caused a tremendous amount of pain for those same people.  He should not have negative feelings about his choices, but he did.  He should not consider that chastisement was appropriate, but at times, he could see where it might be warranted.  And he felt it all the more sharply when John tried, as he was now, to keep him from suffering the burdens and consequences of his actions.  

      “Very well.  I shall offer instead to keep my own observations about him to myself as a silent act of gratitude.  It is a rarified gift that I offer only to the most deserving individuals.”

Sherlock had calculated only a thirty percent chance of his attempt at humor being successful, but John’s happy laughter proved once again that analyses involving John Watson were questionable at best.

      “That really is the best possible gift you could offer, so I accept in his place.  Though he’d probably the one person on the planet who would think it hilarious to find himself in your sights.  Knowing him, he’d want you to spill everything and how you figured it out and you two would be at it for hours talking about what you got right and wrong.  But we can save that for when we’ve all had a few drinks.  So, I’ll be back in awhile, ok?  I’m not sure what Mycroft’s told Greg’s superiors about his absence, since I don’t think there’s been one call or anything from that lot, but maybe we can stop by after Arthur relieves you and see if there are any cases for you to look at?  Something old and cold and waiting for your magic touch?”

The likelihood that there was anything of interest for Sherlock to donate his attention was slim, however, it had been an objectionably long time since he was able to exercise his skills…

      “If I must.  I do suppose that the enforcement branch of our legal machinery is likely teetering on the edge of collapse without the support I provide.  It would probably be considered a ‘bad’ thing if I left it to wobble.”

      “Every day you surprise me with your courtesy and concern for the public welfare.”

      “We all do our part, John.”

      “Ok then, you visit and we’ll find you a nice case later on.  I’ll be back soon.”

John kissed Sherlock with an intensity that testified his emotions were still running high and Sherlock reciprocated to assure his doctor that he was really and truly physically present.  Tonight, he would provide even more assurance.  As much as John needed…

__________

      “Oh god, am I dying?”

      “I am not entirely certain if you are hallucinating and confusing me with your mythological higher power or if you are attempting to be clever.”

      “The d…day I sing you a hymn is the day you can finish what the bullets started.”

Levity was a method some individuals used to hide distress, but Sherlock was not sufficiently practiced in differentiating a true jest from a misdirection to know for sure his friend’s mind.

      “Are you making a joke or are you attempting to divert my attention from your possible anxieties concerning your shooting.”

      “Really?  Just a joke, lad.  Nothing more.”

      “Oh, then good, because John is not present to manage any emotional turmoil on your part.”

      “Fair enough, so do you actually have a reason to be here or did John drop you off for m…me to watch for the day?” 

      “You have that the wrong way around.  I am minding _you_.  Arthur and Martin shall arrive later and I assume that Mycroft will return this evening for the overnight duty.”

Lestrade blew a few air bubbles with his lips and wondered if it was at all possible for him to impress upon the rest of them that he did _not_ need a body at his side twenty-four hours a day.  Since it wasn’t likely that he could do that without being sized up for psychiatric evaluation or seriously bruising some tender feelings, he kept his thoughts to himself.

      “Sounds good.  Any idea when I’m out of here, though?”

      “John has not expressed an opinion on that matter, however, you may ask him when he returns, provided Dr. Mengele leaves him coherent after they share their coffee.”

      “So my medical team is off having a little party and I wasn’t invited.  I think I need to hire someone new.”

      “Feel free to discuss the issue with Mycroft.  I would not object to John being relieved of his responsibilities, for they are consuming an inexcusably large portion of his time…”

      “… that could be spent doing things for you.”

      “Precisely.  Though he is not unsettled by the wage that Mycroft is paying him for his services, which I suppose, could be considered a benefit to the work.  _My_ work, of course.  When John is not preoccupied by insignificant matters such as money, he is a far more effective and agreeable assistant.”

      “Then why don’t you pay him?”

      “Don’t be ridiculous.  It would be the same as paying myself.”

      “I don’t think John would think so.”

      “He would not accept a salary from me, regardless.  I suspect his pride would raise some argument and nullify the gesture.”

      “Don’t know unless you try.”

      “Hmmm… true.  But why expose myself to a potential argument when it is an easy matter to avoid it altogether.  Really, Lestrade, do attempt to occasionally use your brain for more than a consumer of circulating glucose.”

And that didn’t upset the Detective Inspector in the least.   Back to normal was the best thing he could think of right how…

      “One phone call, Sherlock, and you’re barred from the Yard for eternity.”

      “And how, precisely, do you plan on placing that call?  You are not in possession of your mobile and the room phone is achingly far from your reach.  I believe, as they say, I have you where I want you.”

      “Now that’s a frightening thought.  If there wasn’t a window to this room, I’d w…worry that I’d turn into one of your experiments.”

      “Nonsense.  I would far prefer a younger individual if I were to conduct a vivisection.”

While he chuckled at Sherlock’s sudden turn to nonsense, Lestrade wondered when the boy had grown a sense of humor.  Not that it mattered, because, at the moment, it was an insanely wonderful thing to enjoy.

      “Good to know.  So, you’re here to watch I’m not abducted by the Grim Reaper… fancy a little telly while we wait to see if he shows up?”

      “I suppose there is little else to do in this sterile institution.”

      “Could play cards.”

      “You would not long be able to hold a hand of cards and I will not insult you by saying I shall hold them and not cheat.  Because I will.”

      “Games?”

      “Moving little pieces around a square of paperboard?  For one, we have no games, and two… no.”

      “I meant other games, you bastard.  You know, like word games or 20 Questions or…”

      “For one… no.  And two… are you truly that masochistic?”

      “I asked to watch telly, didn’t I?”

      “Ah, you raise a valid point.  Very well, however, I shall choose the program and entertain complaints only if you are, for some completely unfathomable reason, experiencing physical pain over the choice.”

      “There _are_ a couple of shows that could fit that description.”

      “Use your complaints judiciously, Lestrade.  If I observe any fakery, the consequences will be dire.”

      “I can’t have a beer with my telly, Sherlock.  There’s nothing you can do more dire than that.”

      “I can obtain one for myself and consume it in your presence.”

      “Oh my god, you are a complete…”

      “Now, now… let us not overstrain your aged and weakened heart.  It is already a surety that John shall force me to treat you gently once you return to work; I would rather limit that distasteful restriction to its minimum possible degree, if you please.”

      “If you do anything like that when I’m on the job, expect a kick to the head.”

      “Oh, and can your stubby legs lift that high?  I think not and consider my mind unthreatened.”

Lestrade was having a difficult time remembering if he’d ever had as much fun talking to Sherlock.  It was about as ridiculous as talking to John.

      “I’ll do one of those martial arts kicks and your head will pop clean off.  Use it as a f…football, I will.”

      “Pedestrian.  And highly unlikely.  You shall only succeed in staging a very amusing performance of an arthritic pensioner attempting to emulate the dance maneuvers of the routine currently most popular among the gyrating and uncultured youth.”

      “Wrong.  Because I _can_ dance.  You’ve seen me.”

      “No.  You are quite mistaken.”

      “Bollocks.”

      “I have not seen those either.”

      “You saw me on the dance floor in Fitton.”

      “I have no memory of such an undoubtedly embarrassing scene.”

      “Liar.”

      “I do not lie.  I merely tell the truth as it best suits me.”

      “I give up.  Just put the telly on and let me die in peace.”

      “YOU WILL CEASE!”

Lestrade struggled to reach out for Sherlock who had yelled out his words and was now chewing on his thumb, pointedly not looking in Lestrade’s direction.

      “Sherlock…”

      “I cannot know when you are joking, when you are attempting to hide an period of depresson or are, in the vernacular, making a cry for help.  When John is not here, I cannot understand and… I do not know what to do!   I wish to do _something_ if that is warranted, but I cannot be sure if the action I take will better or worsen the situation.  I believe in this case you are making a jest, but…”

      “But you don’t want to ignore something and be wrong.”

Sherlock desperately wanted the American doctor to come into the room at that moment, just so he could beat the man to death with his chair.  This was _his_ fault.  His own feelings for Lestrade were cleanly and tidily locked away until they were plucked from their locked room and set out on display.

      “The price for being wrong is unacceptably high.”

It was almost worth being shot to hear Sherlock speak so openly from the heart.  Lestrade motioned the young man over, and did it three more times until Sherlock finally moved his chair closer to the bed.

      “Some days, Sherlock… you make me so proud I could nearly burst.  You’re right, too… and it’s not just you.  It can be hard for anyone to know what a person really means when they say something like that, when they’re in the shape I’m in.  I honestly f…feel you would know before anyone, though.  You see through people when you know to look and the fact this upset you meant you _did_ know to look. That’s big for you, lad, and it means a lot that you’re thinking, really thinking, about me.  It means more than you can possibly know.  So, I’ll make you a deal, I won’t joke about dying with you, well, I’ll do my very best to remember not to.  That way, you won’t have to worry, ok?”

      “No.”

      “No?”

      “The implication is that you also will fail to notify me if you are in need of assistance and that is not something I can permit.”

      “Are you sure you really _want_ to know?”

Once again, it was reassuring that Sherlock didn’t respond immediately, but took time to think.  This was not one of his strong areas, Lestrade knew well, and that Sherlock was seriously considering his abilities to give the best answer was comforting.

      “I am certain that I wish to know.  I am not certain that I can effectively provide aide, if it is required.”

      “No one can ever be certain of that.  The important thing is that you _want_ to try and that I know you’d take proper steps if you realized you should bring someone else in on the job.  And… a lot of the time, what a body needs is just someone to be there, even if it’s just watching telly or sitting and chatting about nothing in particular.  Just knowing that someone cares enough to be with you can make a world of difference and I’m positive… no doubt about it… that you can do that with the best of them.”

Eyes narrow.  Sideways glare.  Lips pressed and slightly pursed.  Sherlock could be completely transparent sometimes.

      “Yeah, I mean that.  And I p…promise that I won’t hesitate to let you know if I need to talk or anything like that.  I trust you, Sherlock, and I won’t hesitate for a single moment.”

Lestrade wasn’t surprised he didn’t get a verbal response from the young detective, who settled for punching buttons on the remote to scroll through the channels of early morning programming.  He didn’t need one, anyway.  Sherlock’s very small smile was all the response he would ever need…

__________

      “Greg!  Mr. Sherlock!  We had a brilliant time today!  And it looks like you had a brilliant time, too!”

Sherlock wasn’t sure how anything about his and Lestrade’s situation could be described as brilliant, but knew too well that Arthur had his own special way of looking at things.

      “We have engaged in a compare/contrast exercise for preferences in televised programming.  I have decided that Lestrade would be very content to share the remainder of the day with you as your tastes coincide quite nicely.”

      “Really!  That’s wonderful!  Hear that, Skip… you can read your book and not worry about me having to watch telly alone because Greg and I can watch together and have lots of fun.  Oh!  And I took more pictures and even some video so we can look at that first.  And we found a very nice shop that amazing chocolates and I found some brilliant paper that I can use to make those little frogs that I’ve been trying to work on.  You remember, Mr. Sherlock?  The little paper frogs that jump when you push down on their bums?  Well, the shop lady said this paper should work very well for that and…”

      “And I am quite certain Lestrade will be very interested in watching you create those once I have departed.  Which I will do as soon as John retrieves the test results he wished to review and the pint of expired Type A blood that I require for my experiment.”

      “Oh, well that’s alright.  I’ll make enough frogs for everyone to have a nice little frog family of their very own.”

      “What’s this about frogs?  Sherlock, if you’ve got something planned, be aware that I will not tolerate you breeding frogs in the bathtub.”

John scowled fondly at his partner and handed him his coveted blood packet.

      “Doctor Watson!  Oh… that _is_ real blood isn’t it?  Well, I’m sure Mr. Sherlock needs it for a good reason.  You’re staying for awhile, though, aren’t you?  We haven’t had a chance to visit today and I’m sure you’ve done lots of interesting things I’d love to hear about!”

      “I’d like that, Arthur, but Sherlock and I have to get back to put his blood in the fridge.  That just means, though, that we’ll have even more to talk about tomorrow.  I want to stop by Mycroft’s and do a final check of Greg’s room, so we can visit then.”

      “A final check?  Are you intimating that Lestrade will soon be moved again?  I would have assumed that a more protracted stay would be called for owing to his re-damaged condition.”

John made sure to look directly at Lestrade as he answered so he could gauge his friend’s reaction.

      “Sam and I did a lot of talking today and he thinks we can bring Greg home the day after tomorrow.”

      “That soon!  Brilliant!  Then yes, we’ll visit tomorrow and make sure everything is ready.  I’ll make breakfast, too.  Or lunch.  Or both.  Skip and Mr. Sherlock can help, too, and we can make a little party of it.  Oh, but you’ll miss it again, Greg.  You won’t be too sad, will you?”

      “Not at all.  I’ll be happy knowing all of you are having a good time.  Sounds like I can be there for the next one, though.”

      “Yes!  And I can start planning that one right away.  I guess we’ll see you tomorrow then, Doctor Watson.  Is there anything we should know today about Greg, since we’ll be visiting until Mycroft gets here?”

      “He’s got the face of a troll and his hair smells like cheese.”

      “You’re lucky I’m stuck in this b…bed.”

      “Doctor Watson!  That is the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.  I’ve seen plenty of trolls in books and Greg doesn’t look like any of them.  Mr. Sherlock, you need to have a chat with Doctor Watson about being silly when he’s being a doctor and should be paying attention to important doctor things.”

      “John, try and maintain your professionalism because you are disgracing your profession and that particular task has already been duly assumed, quite successfully I must add, by your juvenile colleague.”

      “He’d take that as a compliment.”

      “He is an idiot.”

      “He’s an idiot that is willing to ink Greg’s release papers, so be nice or I wouldn’t put it past him to load the bugger up in an ambulance and have him delivered to our flat.”

      “He wouldn’t dare!”

      “Feeling _very_ loved over here.”

      “You are, Greg!  You’re very, very loved with all different types of love.  Isn’t that right, Doctor Watson?  Mr. Sherlock?”

      “Who’s Greg?”

And it was a solid hour before Sherlock and John finally made their way out of the room, leaving Arthur and Martin to settle in and take over the role as official visitors until Mycroft arrived that evening, later than he had hoped, but still early enough to call it ‘night’ and not ‘morning.’  Fortunately, Arthur was sufficiently sleepy from his busy day that he couldn’t muster a fervent protest to returning home and Martin was able to steer him towards the door with a minimum of fuss.

      “You appear extremely fatigued, my dear.  Did you gain any rest during my absence?”

      “A little.  It was a busy day… not that I’d trade any of it for all the sleep in the world.”

      “Your visitations were enjoyable, I take it.”

      “That’s one word for it.  Oh, and I’ve got some news to share.  You might want to get comfortable first.”

Mycroft scrutinized his partner and decided the fastest way to extract the necessary information was to comply.  A quick removal of his jacket preceded his taking a chair and giving his Detective Inspector a kiss on his hand to prompt him to begin speaking.

      “According to John, I should get my eviction day after tomorrow.  One more day here and then I’ll be at your house.”

Whatever Mycroft was expecting, it wasn’t that bit of data; however, there was nothing that could make him happier.  If it was a prudent decision, of course.

      “ _Our_ house, Gregory.  I hope you soon begin to think of it in those terms, for that is how I shall forever view it.  However… John is _certain_ this is the proper time?”

      “He talked to that other doctor and he thinks it should be fine.  I mean, this time I’m only going across the city, right?  That shouldn’t be as dangerous as c…coming from Fitton.”

      “There shall be no impediment to your relocation.  That is something I can assure you.”

There would not be a single vehicle on the route between the hospital and his own front door and road crews would be assigned to inspect each inch of that route and repair any damage to reduce the incidental shocks to his partner’s system.

      “Then, I guess I’m ready to be released.”

After Mycroft triple-checked the opinion with both John and the infernal Yankee.

      “I am nearly giddy with delight.”

      “Prat.  But I’ll forgive you if you rub my leg again.”

      “Do not sell your forgiveness so cheaply, my dear.  There shall be many instances in our future when I will find myself begging it from you.”

      “I’ll make a fee schedule.  Now… leg.”

      “As you wish.  And tonight, perhaps, both might be given attention.”

      “You are a wicked man, Mycroft Holmes.  And I just love that about you…”

__________

In the morning, Mycroft obtained his reassurance from both John and the hospital’s resident supervillain that Lestrade could be moved to his new room as early as the next day and he set his people preparing for the relocation.  Every person involved in the move would be investigated, each last-minute delivery of supplies would be monitored from acquisition to presentation to John.  And, although he was forced by his lover to put in an appearance at his office, the remainder of his familial circle rotated through the hospital during the day, which served to quell his rising anxiety.  An anxiety that kept him awake when he returned to the hospital that night, though he affected a practiced calm to soothe his partner, who was beginning to experience his own anxieties, into a few hours of sleep.  Despite the long night, however, the morning seemed to arrive very early.  And with large cups of strong coffee and bags of pastries carried by Arthur Shappey.

      “Mycroft!  Greg!  It’s moving day!  And it’s the last one, so it’s especially special.   Is it going to happen right away or do we have time for the yummy pastries we stopped and bought?”

      “I’ll take one.”

      “Gregory, you are not permitted to have pastries at this time.”

      “Coffee?”

      “Good heavens… John?  Your interference would be appreciated.”

      “He can have two sips, just be careful he doesn’t choke and spray you since coffee stains can’t be good for your nice suit.”

      “Freedom!  Hot coffee fr…freedom!”

      “No, lukewarm only, so you’ll have to wait a bit.”

      “Freedom!  Cold coffee freedom!”

      “Ok, ignoring you now.  I’ll go finalize the paperwork and get us rolling.  Sherlock, Martin… keep an eye that Arthur and Mycroft don’t go ahead and load Greg into one of Mycroft’s black cars and start off without me.”

      “We’re not going anywhere until I get my breakfast, John, so don’t worry about a thing.  I plan to eat very slowly.”

      “You’re still my favorite, Martin.”

John grinned at Sherlock’s disgruntled frown and set off to secure Lestrade’s discharge, which went much quicker than normal owing to Mycroft’s influence and the fact that Sam had prepared the papers in advance.  He made one final check of the last round of Lestrade’s test results and saw no glaring reason to postpone or cancel their plans.  His errands done, John was back in Lestrade’s room in short order, enjoying his own pastry and, as a final act of kindness, helping Mycroft give his Detective Inspector his first taste of coffee since before his shooting.  With that bit of encouragement, Lestrade’s nerves eased just a bit and he gave John the quick nod the doctor had been waiting for.

      “Ok, the ambulance is waiting and everyone’s fed and happy, so there’s no reason to put this off any longer.  Shall we go?”

      “If you believe this is the correct time, then I am certain you have our agreement, John.”

      “I’ll get some help, then.  You know the drill, so if you all want to meet us outside, that’s probably a good idea.”

John went to find some free hands to move Lestrade outside to the ambulance and Arthur quickly packed away the last few things in the room that they were bringing with them.  One final look around and the group said goodbye to what they all dearly hoped would be the last hospital room any of them would see for a very long time.  It was then a quick walk outside, where Mycroft impressed upon the ambulance personnel the gravity of their assignment and Arthur gave Martin an ambulance tour until two familiar faces exited the large building and made their way down the ramp to the waiting vehicle.  With the efficiency typical of those who had their employment and existences explored as payment for failure to deliver a happy and healthy Detective Inspector to his new home, the ambulance crew situated Lestrade and notified John the moment they were prepared to leave.

      “Ok, I’ll ride along with Greg and you all can follow.  See you soon…”

      “Wait, Doctor Watson!  We can’t leave yet.”

      “Why not?  We’ve got everything, haven’t we?  One old copper, a bag of miscellaneous things and his fuzzy socks.  What’s the problem?”

      “Doctor Sam’s not here yet.”

Arthur ignored the ‘thank heavens’ from Mycroft and the ‘aren’t we lucky’ from Sherlock and focused on the confused John Watson.

      “Arthur… Sam’s got work to do and besides… well, he’s not really Greg’s physician…”

      “What do you mean?  He’s helped Greg the entire time.”

      “I asked his help for the surgery and he did me a favor by keeping an eye on Greg, but now he’s back to his own work and we’ll find someone else to check in when I’m not available.”

      “Well, I may be mistaken, but that seems very silly.  Doctor Sam already knows Greg and they get along and he’s a brilliant doctor… I can’t imagine you’d find anyone better than that for Greg and he deserves the very best!”

      “Arthur, love, how about we have this conversation at Mycroft’s since it can’t be good for Greg to just sit in the ambulance like that when he could actually  be en route to the nice room you set up for him.”

      “That’s very true and we can absolutely get going as soon as Doctor Watson says that Doctor Sam is still going to be Greg’s doctor.  Or tells me who is so I can have Mycroft check them out to see if they good enough.”

Three mouths opened to offer their opinion, but one jumped in before any of them had time to speak.

      “Arthur’s concern is well-placed, since John will _not_ become a permanent resident at Mycroft’s mausoleum for any reason and I have yet to hear any discussion about the matter of who will relieve him when it is necessary.”

      “Sherlock, now is not the time…”

      “Have you asked your colleague if he would serve that function?”

      “No, but…”

      “Then we shall leave the discussion at this point.  Arthur, John will broach the topic with the insufferable American as soon as he is able and it shall be the vulgar man’s decision whether to take the assignment or not.  Will that satisfy you?”

      “Brilliant!  Yes, it most certainly well.  You’ve always got such good plans, Mr. Sherlock.  If I ever need a plan, I know just who I’m going to call.  Ok, _now_ I’m ready to go.  Greg!  Are you ready?”

A muffled ‘yes’ could be heard from the inside of the ambulance and John jumped in quickly before anyone had any further objections to leaving.  Martin took Arthur’s hand and led him away from the ambulance, though Arthur’s eyes didn’t leave the vehicle for one moment and it suddenly Martin how worried was his fiancé… and why he’d been so stubborn about leaving.

      “Arthur… he’ll be alright.  You know that, don’t you?”

      “I want him to be, Skip but, well, things haven’t really gone that way, have they?”

No, no they hadn’t.

      “That’s why you want John’s friend to help take care of Greg.”

      “He’s a great doctor, Skip!  And he’s nice and patient and he treats Greg… not that the other doctors were bad, not at all, but they didn’t take time to talk to Greg like Doctor Sam did.  I mean, he stayed a whole hour while were there yesterday!  And Greg likes him, so that has to be a good thing.  He laughs and feels better about things.  Isn’t that important?”

Martin smiled at his Arthur and caught the eyes of both Sherlock and Mycroft, who had gotten into the car and heard the bulk of their conversation.  On this issue, they would have a hard time disagreeing with Arthur’s assessment.

      “We have been assured, Arthur, that John will take the offer to his colleague and I am certain that he will forcefully present his case.  I shall also make my opinion known on the matter and that may help to sway the man’s decision in our favor.”

Though Mycroft would rather gargle with battery acid while standing in the middle of a car fire.  The idea of having the horrendous snake-oil peddler in his home for any reason was excruciating in its discomfort, but if it would bring a better quality of care for his Gregory, it was a discomfort that he would suffer willingly.

      “Really?  That’s wonderful!  Greg will be thrilled!  Look… they’re leaving.  Can I tell Charles to follow that car like they do in the films?”

      “I am quite sure he would be delighted.”

      “Brilliant!  Charles – follow that car!”

      “Whatever you say, boss.  Hold onto your hat, this could be a bumpy ride.”

      “I have taken steps to eliminate that possibility, Charles.”

      “Of course, sir.  I would expect no less.  Now, let the chase begin.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support. Every kind word and comment is greatly cherished...

Lestrade had refused to give any thought to the idea that if they got hit by a car, blew a tire, were chosen by god as a sacrifice or anything else in the world, he’d definitely be dead this time and concentrated instead on how nice it was going to be at Mycroft’s.  And yeah… it was still _Mycroft’s_ house.  It would be for a long time, too.  There was just too much history for him to feel comfortable thinking of it any other way right now, even though his own home was nothing but a memory.  In time… it would take time, but he was sure he’d eventually start to see that very nice house as home.  He had to, because it _was_ now, wasn’t it?

      “Greg?  You ok?  Got a grimace going on that I’d ignore out of hand if I wasn’t wearing my doctor’s hat.”

      “Everything’s fine, John.  Just wondering when we were going to get there, that’s all.”

      “That’s not close to all, but I’ll leave it for now.  We’ll have plenty of time to chat once we get you perched on your horizontal throne and you’ve had a chance to rest.  And don’t tell me all you do is rest, because the white-knuckled thing you’re doing to these rails tells me something different.”

      “Blame me for being nervous?  Last time my arse was in motion, we were in a plane crash!”

      “I wouldn’t call it a crash, necessarily.”

      “Hey!  You leave m…my battle story intact!”

      “You know, you do have a point.  How come we get a good story like that when we’re not on the market anymore?  It would have come in handy.”

      “Well, it’s in the pocket for when the Holmes brothers pull another stupid stunt and we’re single again.”

      “There’s an idea, although I think Sherlock’s learned his lesson.  He flies off a building again, it had better be for real or _I’ll_ be the one putting him in the grave.”

If only Lestrade had that level of confidence that Mycroft had learned his own lesson.  Sherlock would probably never again encounter a situation like he had with Moriarty, but Mycroft… dodgy situations were his life.  Hopefully, the next time, he’d at least talk about it, so things didn’t come as so much of a hideous and shattering surprise.

      “There’s that grimace, again, but I think I know what it’s about this time.  And I won’t say you don’t have a right to worry.”

      “The man’s putting me up in his house, paying a king’s ransom for my care… I’d say I really don’t have a right to do anything but say thank you.”

      “Time for some happy juice for you, I think.  Greg, that’s what people do when they love someone and it’s not something you should feel weird about it.”

      “It is if I can’t totally shake the feeling that this is just guilt on Mycroft’s p…part.  And maybe something to hold my mouth shut when something crappy h…happens in the future.”

      “Yep, happy juice on its way.  You’re nervous, scared even, tired and facing a major shift in your life.  It’s natural that you’re looking for everything that can possible go wrong or _be_ wrong.  You’ve got a long road ahead, mate, and you and Mycroft have a lot of talking to do, but… I do think, despite the fact he’s a complete loon sometimes, he does love you and could be very, very good for you.  I may just have to give his bollocks a good kick if he does something foolish, though.  And then turn him over to Arthur.”

      That’d kill him.  If Arthur was ever disappointed in him again, I think Mycroft would just collapse into a pile of dust for the wind to blow away.”

      “You’re probably right.  Arthur Shappey is hereby declared a weapon of mass destruction for Mycroft Holmes.”

      “I’ve got a kid, John.  Three actually.  Wh… what am I going to do?  I’m too old to be a dad.”

John wasn’t so green he didn’t see an attempt to change the subject and that was fine with him.  For now.  He _did_ run a little something into his friend’s IV to take the edge off of his impending emotional downturn, but only enough to help him handle the transition as easily as possible.  The real help would come from what would be hours and hours of therapy, if John had his way.  At the very least if would be from hours and hours of honest conversation with people who were devoted to hearing him speak honestly and offering whatever help they could, even if it wasn’t the exact form of help Lestrade wanted or thought he needed.  Preferably hours and hours of both.

      “You love it.  Don’t to deny it.  But don’t be surprised if Martin fights you putting him in a pram with the others.”

      “He can push.  I’ll give him a big lolly for being daddy’s helper.”

      “And we fail again.  Everyone loves a man out with his kiddies.”

      “Life’s not f…fair.”

      “That it isn’t my friend, that it isn’t.”

__________

To the great relief of all involved, the ambulance arrived at Mycroft’s address without any incident.  The holding of breaths as the gurney transported the patient from the vehicle to his new home lasted until John and the medical personnel had Lestrade in his bed and John was satisfied that he could dismiss the paramedics, who gave Mycroft a nod as they left.  John had to wonder how many candidates the older Holmes personally reviewed before choosing the ones that would transport his precious cargo.

      “GREG’S HOME!  This is the best day in the world since Skip asked me to marry him!”

Arthur jumped over to the bed and, waffled a moment, before giving the best hug he could to a man surrounded by gauze, tubes, wires and with fresh surgical incisions on his chest.  And getting a small kiss on his cheek in return from his partner in the most horrifying event of their lives.

      “Do you like your room?  Everyone helped get it ready.”

 Was that a kite strung from the ceiling?  Lestrade looked around and found the room filled with arts and crafts from his room in Fitton mixed with new pieces… some obviously Mycroft’s handiwork.  And _his_ things were there, too.  He could see his clothes in the closet, his knick-knacks displayed here and there and, now that he looked, his own crappy blankets on the bed.  Someone had definitely taken time to make the room into something both remembered and welcoming.  And damn it all if he wasn’t starting to tear up like a baby.

      “It’s great, Arthur.  Just what I hoped it would be.  Little bit of the old, little b…bit of the new.”

Not at all comfortable with tears for any reason, Sherlock stepped in to salvage his… he meant his friend’s… dignity.

      “I propose that we allow Lestrade some time to become accustomed to his surroundings and recover from his relocation.  Arthur, you have a kitchen stocked with supplies.  Might you make some tea and provide refreshments for John and Martin?  They both look rather drawn and pale.”

      “Oh!  Oh… you’re right.  Skip, why are you all saggy?”

      “What?  Arthur, don’t listen to Sherlock…”

      “Arthur has spoken, Martin.  You will accompany him for tea and I will escort John.  Mycroft can tend to the invalid for the few minutes that we require to refresh ourselves.  If he does not kill Lestrade in the process, Arthur, you may allow him tea.  If Lestrade expires, do not make the offer.”

Mycroft watched his brother push his army doctor out of the room on the heels of a protesting Martin who was being dragged along by his own concerned partner.

      “Did Sherlock just clear the room?”

      “I believe he did.  To provide you with some much-needed time to draw together the threads of your morning.  He is coming to surprise me on a regular basis.”

      “I think he’s s…surprising himself, too.”

      “Likely true.  As do you, my dear Detective Inspector… you surprise me continually.  An extremely difficult thing to do.”

Mycroft had ensured that one of his most comfortable chairs was installed adjacent to his dearest’s bed and happily settled into it, taking Lestrade’s hand as he did so.

      “And that is something that I have found most exciting about you.  With others, knowing their mind is a simple matter, however, I find my ability to predict _your_ mind and behaviors sadly lacking.”

      “It’s my sexiness.  Fuddles your brain.”

Laughter had been a very rare thing in his home, but Mycroft delighted that it would now be a regular visitor.

      “It does at that.  And I cannot begin to describe how content I am that I shall now suffer an, as you say, fuddled brain for all eternity.”

      “Then there goes the free world.  It…it’s all anarchy and zombies now.”

      “The zombies mayhap be used for some variety of biofuel in that eventuality.  I shall make inquiries among the scientific community.”

      “Good on you, thinking ahead.”

      “That is my vocation, my dear Gregory.  Now, I would appreciate if you would share with me how you are feeling?  And your opinion of your surroundings.  Whatever you find unacceptable shall be changed immediately.”

Lestrade still hadn’t gotten over how much effort had gone into making him comfortable and, honestly, he wouldn’t change a thing.  Especially not the large flatscreen perched on the wall opposite his bed and the very nice sound system he saw sitting proudly underneath it.  And the remotes were actually fastened to his bed so he couldn’t drop them and get stuck watching or listening to something horrendous until he could be put out of his misery.  Being confined in a bed for awhile might not be so bad…

      “The room’s great… really.  Just right.  I r…really like that some of my stuff’s here, too.”

      “All of your possessions are present or in storage awaiting your word on where you would like them placed.”

      “Not… my rubbish furniture?”

      “Of course.  When you are ambulatory, we shall study the floorplan of this house and decide where best to integrate your…”

      “The fireplace.”

      “Pardon?”

      “Burn it.  No!  Give it to charity.”

      “Gregory… they are your belongings…”

      “That are n…not going to muck up your nice house.  Not going to have people visit you and see my tatty stuff.”

Mycroft restrained himself from releasing a large and cleansing sigh, as he was absolutely certain it would be interpreted wrongly by his partner.

      “There is nothing amiss with your furnishings, Gregory.  I have no doubt that we can assimilate them very successfully into the existing décor.”

      “My stuff is rubbish compared to all of this.  Real rubbish… like the things you find left out for the men to haul away.  I’m not stupid, Mycroft.  Just get rid of it all.”

It was unlikely that any further argument would make his Detective Inspector see reason, so Mycroft chose to table the discussion for a later time, when his lover was in a more positive frame of mind.  In the meantime, the storage room where the furnishings were housed would remain undisturbed.

      “We have ages to contemplate the issue, my dear, so let us now speak of pleasanter topics, such as your continued good health.  I have not observed any signs of distress, so I am hopeful that we may now consider your feet firmly planted on the road to recovery.  Do you agree?”

Lestrade had no clear idea if he was on the road to recovery or not, but at least he hadn’t just woken up with new cuts in his chest.

      “I don’t feel worse than I did, so that’s something.  The ride was fine and the room… it’s amazing.  Maybe it won’t be so bad being on my arse for awhile with all the art on the walls and photographs and… really, Mycroft.  That telly is as big as a car.”

And to think… Martin had browbeat him and Arthur into having the original one replaced and this smaller one installed instead.  In hindsight, perhaps the original dimensions would have been a bit extreme.

      “There shall be times that you shall have to find your own entertainment and I simply wished to be certain that your options were acceptable.”

      “That’s a _lot_ of acceptable, not that I’m comp…complaining.”

      “There is also a tablet and laptop computer available for you, so you may read or amuse yourself with activities of an electronic nature.”

      “You kidding?  Mycroft… it’s too much.  I can’t accept all of that”

      “It is not a matter of accepting, my dear.  It is a matter of maintaining your state of mind and mental health during your recovery period.”

      ‘A bit of telly and a few good books is all I usually have and that’s enough.  I… it’s all too much.”

Something that John had warned him about, impelling Mycroft to have a rebuttal crafted and waiting.

      “You and I have very different lives, Gregory, and I am thankful that is the case.  You shall and do enrich my life incalculably and I hope to be able to do so, in some small way, for yours, though I realize that it could take time for you to become comfortable with the fact that what, to you, is extravagance, is to me a minor issue.  However, we can agree, I feel certain, that you can make use of your devices freely and then donate them to a needful institution when you are no longer limited in your ability to access sources of mental stimulation.  It is a fair compromise, is it not?”

Actually, Lestrade had to admit, it was.  Just as he had to admit that he needed to start finding ways to be less of a working-class flag-bearer and not make Mycroft feel bad about the privileges of his life.  It wasn’t right and it sure as hell wasn’t caring.  But it was a hard thing to do…

      “When the time comes… we’ll see.  Might grow to like them too much to give away.”

There.  That was trying.  And if the softening of Mycroft’s eyes was any indication, it was _successful_ trying.

      “Whatever makes you comfortable, of course.  Now, shall we discuss tea?”

      “Tea?”

      “John allowed you coffee, therefore, I do not see why he would not allow you a small measure of tea.  Would you like me to obtain some for you?”

      “I would kiss you for a cup of tea.”

      “Is that the only provocation that will earn me such a reward?”

      “Not sure.  Strip for me while w…we talk about it.”

      “Naughty Detective Inspector…”

      “That could be fun, too.”

__________

      “Mycroft!  Is Greg ok?  Why is he alone?  Do you need Doctor Watson?”

Mycroft plucked at Arthur’s sleeve as the young man started to bolt past him and slowly drew him back, so he could speak to his face and not the back of his head.

      “Gregory is quite well, Arthur, he simply desires his own restorative.  A little tea should not debilitate him unduly, should it John?  I believe some small treat for enduring this difficult morning is in order.”

John thought for a second be couldn’t come up with a strong enough reason to deny his patient some reward for holding himself together as well has he had, and a little tea wasn’t a bad option.

      “That should be fine, but don’t make it too strong or too hot.  And not too much, either.  Just a few mouthfuls today.”

      “Oh!  I’ll get right on that.  One tiny cup of warm tea for Greg.”

      “Thank you, Arthur.  Gregory will be very happy to receive your efforts.”

      “Has Lestrade accepted his new surroundings or should we anticipate some form of emotional crisis to surface that will require John’s attention for the remainder of the day.”

      “Sherlock!   Behave yourself or don’t expect to find anything fun in the fridge when we get home and you want to play in your lab.”

      “For your information, dear brother, Gregory is quite calm and enjoying what will be his world for the time being.”

      “And it’s a brilliant world!  I almost like that room more than I do my own, but I think I still like mine better since I have more colorful blankets and my animals are in there.  But it’s a close thing.”

      “Gregory is most pleased with what you have provided him for decoration and I suspect you have ideas for more, don’t you, Arthur?”

      “Oh, I do.  There are lots of things that we can still do to make his room as happy and fun as possible.  I’ll get as much done as I can before Skip and I have to go back home, but I’ll leave notes for what else you could do and some of my art supplies… wait!  I don’t have to leave supplies because you’ll use your own!  Greg really likes your drawing, Mycroft, so I know he wants lots of pictures from you.  That’ll be brilliant, even if they’re not of dogs or flowers or airplanes.”

      “Excellent.  However, Sherlock does raise an interesting point, John.   If you choose to return to your home this evening, who is to monitor Gregory’s condition?”

      “Well, you contracted a couple of nurses, right?  I’ll give one a call before I go and…”

      “Gregory is newly returned from a second, very invasive, surgery.  Do you feel that he should be without the benefit of immediate access to a doctor?”

      “I’m not that far away, Mycroft.  And if there’s a real problem, you get an ambulance.”

      “I think Mycroft’s right, Doctor Watson.  Greg's not well and in the hospitals the doctors were only a few steps away.”

      “Arthur, love… John would not make any decision that would put Greg’s health in jeopardy.  If he thinks a nurse is enough for today, then a nurse is enough.  I’m sure he’ll get someone qualified to help with the checks and tests and whatever it is that needs to be done, so just relax.”

      “I’m sorry, Skip.  I’d like to believe that, I mean I do for the part about Doctor Watson not wanting to do anything to hurt Greg, but I still don’t think it’s a good idea to leave Greg so soon without a doctor right here in case there’s a problem.  Bad things can happen very, very fast and if there’s no one here to help…”

Martin rose from his chair and took his fiancé in his arms to help quiet the distress that had rapidly risen and looked between Mycroft and John with a glare that said the issue had best be resolved quickly for everyone’s piece of mind.

      “John, if we may speak a moment.”

Mycroft motioned for John to follow him from the kitchen, ignoring his brother’s irate scowl as the doctor complied, ultimately following Mycroft to his study.

      “I believe you should contact your colleague, John.  It is not an option that I easily endorse, but Arthur’s upset will continue to increase and I suspect Gregory’s will start along that path when he finds that he shall be left alone with only a nurse for support.  Unless, of course, you wish to take up residence here…”

      “No!  No… while _I_ wouldn’t mind, Sherlock would have a fit and I do not for a second want to think about how much chaos he’d cause, whether he stayed at the flat alone or stayed here with me.  But you have to understand… I wasn’t entirely telling the entire truth earlier.”

      “Oh?  About what?”

      “Look, I didn’t specifically ask Sam to come on board to help out after we’d set Greg up here, but I did talk about needing to find someone.  Several times.  You’ve met him… if he wanted a piece of this we probably couldn’t have stopped him if we’d wanted to.”

      “Perhaps he did not wish to intrude without specific invitation.”

      “I’ll say it again, you _met_ him.”

      “Regardless, I think it would be best if you made a specific request for his services.  If, between us, we cannot convince him to assume a continued role in Gregory’s treatment, then that shall be that and you can pursue a suitable alternative.  However, Arthur’s viewpoint that Gregory would recover more quickly and comfortably surrounded by practitioners who are both competent and care about him as a person first and a patient second, is sound and should not be discounted.”

      “I’m not saying it’s not.  I’m just saying it may not be possible.”

      “But you will make the call.”

      “That wasn’t a question, was it?”

      “No.  I am afraid it was not.”

      “Why am I not surprised?  But we do this my way and if he says no, then it’s no.”

      “I shall follow you lead, if that is your wish.”

      “Ok then… he’ll be off later and I’ll give him a call.  Good enough?”

      “I would not dream of interfering with his work, so yes.  It is satisfactory.”

      “What you really mean is you’d rather not give Sam anything new to be annoyed about so he tells you to piss off just be irritating.”

      “You _are_ learning my little secrets, aren’t you, John.”

      “Only a few.  Thankfully, a very, very few.”

__________

Lestrade sipped his tea and felt it warm more than his mouth.  Tea, his own blankets, familiar voices bickering about familiar things, a film was playing on his massive telly… this was good.  This felt right, even if he had to have Mycroft help him with the tea.  It almost made him feel normal, if he forgot the fog in his brain, the heaviness in his limbs and the pulling sensation in his chest every time he shifted a little in the bed.  Soon, it would be more than a pulling sensation, but right now he wasn’t going to worry about that.  Let it come in its own time and he’d deal with it then.

      “And tomorrow, Skip and I are going to go and visit GERTI, then I’ve got a list of places we haven’t been yet, but we’ll make sure to be back early enough for me to make a nice dinner for everyone.”

      “Don’t rush back, Arthur.  Enjoy your d…day no matter how long it takes.”

      “That’s very nice of you, Greg, but I want to cook.  Mycroft’s kitchen is brilliant and I love cooking in it.  Maybe we’ll stop and get some nice cake, too.”

      “That will, at least, ensure that Mycroft returns home in time for the meal.”

      “Mr. Sherlock, you do have a bit of a cake fixation, don’t you?”

      “Please do not confuse me with my brother, Arthur.  The comparison makes my DNA scream.”

      “And on that note, I am going to leave you all to Sherlock’s DNA panic.  Got a phone call to make.”

John nodded at Mycroft who nodded in return, a gesture that was not lost on either Sherlock or Martin who gave them nearly identical curious frowns, but, thankfully, remained silent.  John took that as a positive sign that war would not erupt in his absence and only hoped that it wouldn’t erupt later when he had a conversation with a very unpredictable and volatile individual.

      “Well, I hope that Mycroft _does_ have time to eat with us because it’s simply brilliant when we all get to eat together.  And we can have little trays so we can eat in here with Greg.  Even if he can’t eat the food, he can smell it and that’s nearly as good.”

      “I shall do my utmost to attend your feast, Arthur, though I cannot guarantee my presence.  In the eventuality that I am not able to dine with you, if you would be so kind as to put something away for me, I would be most grateful.”

      “Of course!  Don’t worry about a thing.  You and Doctor Watson can come for dinner, too, Mr. Sherlock.  I love to cook for lots of people.”

      “I will discuss the matter with John before committing one way or the other.  He becomes strangely frustrated when I make a decision without his participation in the process.”

      “Hurray!  We could have a big dinner tomorrow!  Or tonight!  We don’t have any cake, but since everyone is here…”

      “I think that Gregory will be retiring early tonight, Arthur, and I am certain you wish him to be an active part of the first dinner we enjoy in what will be his new home.”

      “You’re right!  Ok, so maybe something nice we can call out for after Greg goes to bed and tomorrow we’ll have a nice dinner together.  Hopefully with Mycroft, too.”

      “I shall make every effort.  Ah, John… how went your communication?”

All eyes turned to the man standing in the doorway who was wearing a ‘thank you very much, Mycroft’ grin.

      “Good.  I’ll be going out for awhile, but I’ll be back later.”

      “For what possible reason?  I am not going to be left here alone with an invalid and his caretakers!”

      “Just an errand.  And it’s _for_ the invalid, so I’m just doing my duty as the medical arm of the caretaking team.”

      “Then I shall accompany you.”

      “Actually, brother, I believe I shall do that.  John and I have matters to discuss concerning Gregory’s treatment and I believe this will offer us a fine opportunity to lay certain issues to rest.  My dear, I shall not be long, but pressing the small green button on your bed’s controls shall send an alert directly to my mobile. Do not hesitate to use it if an emergency arises.”

      “You p…put a panic button on my bed?”

      “Naturally.  Although my home is extraordinarily secure, I find it best to leave nothing to chance.  I shall discuss with you other security measures at a later time.  John, shall we depart?”

      “Might as well.  Arthur, keep an eye on everyone, will you?  I know it’ll be hard, but try to keep the armed combat to a minimum and watch out for Greg.  He’s a scratcher.”

      “You use what you…you’ve got.”

His patient was getting tired, which meant that taking a run out of the house wasn’t going to be a hardship for his care.  Apparently the universe wanted this bargaining session as much as Mycroft did.

      “That’s true, but try to use the ‘no really I’m dead and not just sleeping’ tactic if you can.  We’ll be back soon.”

John hurried away before more questions could be tossed at him, followed shortly by Mycroft who paused to give his Detective Inspector a kiss and a final reassurance that he would return shortly.  On the way to the car, John reevaluated Mycroft’s presence at the upcoming meeting and how it would impact his friend’s mood.

      “Do not consider requesting that I remain behind, John.  It would be a waste of your breath to ask and mine to answer.”

      “Please don’t pull that mind reader act on Sam.  He’ll be hard enough to handle without it.”

      “Rest assured that the mere thought of reading his mind is enough to make me use a rather large hammer to put a very substantial hole in my skull so my brain can make its horrified escape.”

      “Good.  I’m sure you’ve got that in common.”

__________

John felt Mycroft tense as soon as the car let them off and he took in the full appearance of their destination.

      “I shall require at least a gallon of surgical disinfectant upon exiting these premises.”

      “Don’t worry, it’s not as bad inside as it looks out here.  It’s a nice convenient spot to grab a pint when I’m done at the clinic and Sam’s finished up with his shift at the hospital.  Just don’t insult the wine list and you’ll be fine.”

      “Do they _have_ a wine list?”

      “Oh, you’re already starting.  This is going to hurt.”

      “Poor quality wine is always painful.”

John swallowed hard and marched towards the door, hoping that he’d have a chance to evacuate the rest of the patrons before things got too vicious for civilian eyes.  Once inside it took only a moment to find his friend, who had secured a table and had already started on his first pint of the evening.  By the look in his eyes when he saw who followed John in, John had a suspicion that many more alcoholic beverages would be following this one.

      “Well, look what the cat dragged in.  To what do I owe this pleasure, since it’s obviously not a friendly drink with a pal?”

John motioned Mycroft to have a seat and only rolled his eyes when the tall man wiped the chair down before actually settling himself in it.

      “It’s still a friendly drink, mate… we just have a question to ask you.”

      “And the answer is no.”

      “Do you make it a practice to simply provide a negative response to everything in hopes that it will curtail the pursuit of additional inquires and requests?”

      “Actually, yes.  But the answer’s still no.”

      “Sam, you don’t even know…”

      “You want me to do a private stint with your friend.  No.”

      “If you are concerned about remuneration, I can assure you…”

      “I don’t need your money, Mr. Holmes.”

      “Then may I know the basis of your objection?”

      “Let me see… I have a job?  I have patients?  If I wanted to do private work, I would?  How’s those for starters?”

      “Gregory is also your patient.  Is it not proper to follow through with his care?”

      “If you’d left him in the hospital, then sure.  But you had to drag him off to Disneyland and all those fucking Princesses scare me.”

      “Come on, Sam.  You’re always complaining you have to actually stand up while you’re working.  This way, you can sit, watch Greg’s telly, drink his beer and still claim to be a doctor.  What could be better than that?”

      “And what do I tell my current patients?  Sorry you’ve come to trust me to look out for you, but I’m going on a goddam cruise for awhile.  That’s _very_ professional.”

      “I have no doubt there are other qualified physicians to take over their care in your absence.”

      “Yes, Mr. Holmes, there are.  Just as there are other qualified physicians to take over Mr. Lestrade’s care in John’s absence.  If you’re going to make a point, try making a real one for a change.”

      “Greg’s comfortable with you, Sam.  He’s going to have a very hard time with all of this, especially since he has no intention of staying off the job permanently and it would go a lot better for him if you were on board.”

      “I’m sorry, John.  I like the guy and I’ll gladly take a turn now and then if you and Sherlock want a fuck-a-thon and your backup bails on you, but I’m not signing up for a long-term gig.”

      “It would not be difficult to make such a ‘gig,’ as you term it, the only possible employment opportunity available to you.”

      “Mycroft, do _not_ start…”

      “Go ahead, Mr. Holmes.  Then off I go back to the States to pick up where I left off.  And before you start to crow that you’ll close those doors for me, you might want to chew on what people would think about the full story of how your sweetie-pie got himself in this position.  Sex, betrayal and violence sell a lot of papers.  And with the friggin’ Internet… hope you like having your disgraceful story broadcast to a bazillion computers before you have the chance to put a block on the information.  Might make conducting business a little difficult for you.  And don’t look at John like that.  It wasn’t hard to cobble together the information between all the nice sources I’ve been able to cultivate in your little hive.”

John waved at the server with the universal signal to bring over whatever was fastest and most lethal and moved his chair back a little bit further from the table.

      “Just how many stories do you have between your pages, Doctor Harris?  How entertaining it would be to pluck those from your history to share with your colleagues?”

      “Probably as entertaining as concocting a very false, but very tabloid-worthy story involving you and any random piece of jailbait who would be happy to have his face plastered across half the news sites on the Web, even if months down the road it’s proved that the whole thing was an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

      “You think I cannot control the media?  How childish of you.”

      “You think I’ll bother with the actual media?  How Luddite of you.”

      “Boys!  Look, here’s some nice fresh drinks to make the threats go down more smoothly.  Take a moment and enjoy a few sips, let the fangs retract…”

Which, surprisingly, they did, though John knew the dangerous level of Mycroft’s fury by the fact the man didn’t wipe the edge of the glass before taking a drink.

      “How about we agree that you each could be the ruin of the other, even if it’s completely not true, and move on from there.  Sam, Greg’s my mate and he didn’t deserve any of what happened to him.  He wasn’t at fault for anything and nearly paid the final price for things that he wasn’t responsible for.  All we’re… _I’m_ … asking is that he have _something_ good happen for him.  He trusts you.  You treat him like he wants to be treated and that means he’ll offer less resistance to your instructions.  You know how important that is going to be when we reach the nasty parts of his recovery and if he’s got both you and me telling him he’s got to endure the pain and the frustration for his own good, he’ll listen.  I just want what’s best for him, mate.  He’s suffered too much already and deserves everything he can get right now to help him get past this.  I’ll help get your patients reassigned to the doctor who’s the best possible fit for them.  I’ll take the night shift with Greg if you want days.  You tell me what it will take to get you to say yes and I’ll do it.  Or Mycroft will if I can’t.  Whatever it takes to get Greg the right and best care, we _will_ do it.”

John punched Mycroft’s leg under the table as the man started to open his mouth and Mycroft, fortunately, took the hint and remained silent as the other doctor at the table stared at them and scowled.  And continued to stare for so long that John started to fidget in his chair.

      “And my real job… that position will still be mine again when this is over with, right?”

John looked at Mycroft, who nodded slightly.

      “No problem with that.  And once Greg gets a little further along, it may be that you’re just on call and that’ll leave you free to put in a few hours here and there to keep your fingers in that job, if you want.”

John endured being stared at again and forced himself to keep from adjusting his shirt and smoothing his hair out of nervousness.

      “You got a car?”

      “Uh, yeah?  Why?”

      “I’m not fucking walking to this guy’s palace.”

Mycroft let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and opened his wallet to extract a few notes to lay on the table.

      “Then let us ride.  I assume you are offering to begin your service tonight?”

      “Use the word service one more time and I’ll gut you like a pig and strangle you with your intestines.”

      “Colorful, but I concede the point.  It was not the most appropriate of terms.”

      “No, it wasn’t.  And let me be clear… my priority is Mr. Lestrade’s health.  Your wishes are not.  Expect me to ignore the hell out of you if you’re being a pain in my ass or if you’re pushing for something that I don’t feel is in my patient’s best interests.  I have the final word, along with John, on his treatment.  You do not get a vote unless we specifically give one to you.  Do you understand me?”

Mycroft wanted nothing more than to explain in great detail why he always had a vote in Gregory Lestrade’s welfare regardless of what a raggedy American witchdoctor seemed to think, but the set of John’s face spoke of a very great interest in hearing the answer to that question and that the answer had better not disappoint.

      “As long as I have confidence that you continue to work for Gregory’s betterment, then we have an agreement.  If I feel that you are in any way neglecting your duty towards him or making decisions that are poorly considered, then we shall take up the issue again.”

      “Fair enough.  So, let’s see… I’ll need more beer and something to eat.  I don’t have my bag with me so there better be everything I could possible need waiting for me in your fortress of doom.”

      “It’s supplied, don’t worry about that.  I made sure it’s set up the right way with everything we need.”

      “Ok then… to infinity and beyond!”

      “Has he taken leave of his senses?”

      “Yeah.  And you actually came out to beg his help.”

      “I am no longer able to hear you, John.  Please have your vocal cords checked at the earliest opportunity.”

__________

      “John!  I am being forced to endure both an animated film starring a dragon and this ridiculous card game with rules only Arthur understands.  I insist we return home immediately.”

      “Shut your pie hole, scarecrow.  You’ll look back on these times one day and… shit, you’ll still be confused and irritated so moving on to other things…”

      “DOCTOR SAM!  I knew Doctor Watson and Mycroft wouldn’t get another doctor for Greg!  This is brilliant!”

      “And hello to you, Arthur.  Looks like we’ll be seeing a little more of each other than I expected, which is a very nice surprise.”

      “It is!  Although it’s not that much of a surprise for me, since I just knew that Doctor Watson would make sure Greg got the best possible doctor and that’s you, next to Doctor Watson, of course, and here you are!   Oh, I need my phone so I can get a picture.  I’ll be right back.”

Arthur raced out of the room and Sam took the opportunity to make a quick check of his patient.

      “Sorry about this, Mr. Lestrade.  I’m sure you’d be a lot happier without this ugly mug staring at you, but your bunk buddy drives a hard bargain.”

      “He’s good at that.”

      “Lucky you.  Now, does that obscenely-large TV get ESPN?  Or any channel that shows real sports and not that candy-ass soccer you people think is so wonderful.”

      “T…take that back.”

      “I will as soon as you can make me.  John, you said something about beer?  And leaving?  With the one who’s glaring at me like he thinks he can set my head on fire with the power of his petulance?”

      “One beer coming up.  And yes, I will be taking Sherlock home, but I’ll be back in the morning.”

      “I’ve got my phone!  And… that’s one photo done.  Doctor Watson, move over next to Doctor Sam… hurray!  Oh… and Mycroft, stand near Mr. Sherlock and Skip so… Brilliant!... Now, just a few more…”

      “John, you do realize that someone of my celebrity charges for photos, don’t you?”

      “Start a tab, Sam.  It’s really the best plan at this point…”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my eternal thanks for the kind words, kudos, encouragement and positive thoughts that people have sent my way...

      “Look at who’s still alive despite my best efforts to the contrary.”

      “Bastard.  Some doctor you are.  Patient takes a nap and wakes up with their boots gone and they’re in a sack sinking to the b…bottom of the river.”

      “You have the worst taste in shoes of anyone on the planet, so feel free to keep them.  And I don’t have a sack.  Now shut up and let me do my doctor business.”

It took a few minutes for Sam to give Lestrade an examination and a few more for him to pretend to wrestle the remote away from Lestrade who had fallen asleep with it in his hand.

      “I am not going to sit here and watch anymore of those stupid cop shows.”

      “How ‘bout a film?”

      “Can this one be in color, at least.”

      “Barbarian.”

      “Old fart.”

      “You’re older than me!”

      “Older _and_ better and don’t you forget it.”

      “Like you’d let me.”

      “Let you what?”

Two eyes peeked around the door and quickly ducked when a sock was balled and thrown in their direction.

      “Well, he dodged that pretty good.  Come on in, Arthur.  We’re just seeing what brain-rotting show we can find on TV.”

      “Oh!  That will probably be a lot since Mycroft gets every telly show ever made.”

      “He would.  At least that means good things for when I go on my porn hunt.”

      “Well, I wouldn’t know much about that, but any program or film you want you can find if you just type in the title.  Even if you get it a little wrong, it can still figure out what it is!”

      “That’s good to know.  You can’t imagine how many ways they spell ‘titties’ for those videos.”

The older men laughed at the very red color that rose up on Arthur’s face, until they took pity on him and waved him into the room.

      “I promise, kid, nothing that’s higher than PG.”

      “Oh… that’s probably for the best. Skip might wake up and come looking for me and… well, you should see how fuddled he gets when Douglas so much as talks about naughty things.”

      “Really?  And you two are getting hitched, right?”

      “WEDDING!”

      “Mr. Lestrade, can you translate that?  Make sure you include the shimmy and foot stamping part.”

      “Will you please call me Greg?  And Arthur tends to get overheated when anyone mentions him getting married.”

      “Then we’ll have to make sure he _really_ gets overheated with his bachelor party.”

      “Now that’s an idea I can get behind.  I think that Douglas fellow’s t…tending to Martin’s, but Arthur here should have one, too.”

      “PARTY!”

      “Goddam it!  There he goes again!  Arthur, get your ass in a chair and stop doing the hula!”

      “But it’s fun!  Oh!  Can we do that at my party?  Have a big fire on the beach and put up tables with lots of yummy food and wear those grass skirts and flowers around our necks?”

      “If there’s booze and babes, then it’s fine by me.  Oh, and seeing Mr. Holmes with a lei and tiki mug in his hand will sweeten the pot.”

      “God almighty… Mycroft barefoot on the beach.  Maybe in a pair of swim shorts with those b…big flowers.”

      “Brilliant!  I told Mr. Sherlock that we should do a huge party at the beach but we never got to.  Now we can!  Hurray!”

      “Hmmm… have you set a date yet?”

      “Well, no… not as yet.  We’re waiting for… things.”

      “What?  For the baby to be born?”

      “That’s just silly.  Skip and I will have to adopt when we want our own kiddies.”

      “So what’s the holdup?  I’ll give you my American Express and you can take that fiancé of yours to Vegas so Elvis can marry you today.”

      “Really!  Mum LOVES Elvis!  I did think he had passed though.  But I guess if he gave up music and started marrying people, he wouldn’t be on the telly as much anymore, would he?”

      “Well, here’s your chance to meet him.  I’ll make a few calls and get you a nice room at the Bellagio for your honeymoon.”

      “Oh, but I can’t!  Skip and I can’t get married in America.  We have to get married here, so all of our friends can be there.  And we have to wait for Greg…”

      “That sack of concrete?  Unless you’re planning on having him do a striptease at the reception, I can get him into a wheelchair in a few weeks and keep him there long enough to watch the ceremony and chew on the rubber chicken at the after party.”

      “No, he has to be well.  All the way well, too.”

Sam felt a gentle tug on his sleeve and understood the signal for what it was.

      “If you’re including his mental health in that condition you’re going to die an old maid.”

      “I think he’s got you there, Arthur.”

      “Look, you know what I don’t have?  The eye-witness account of this whole fiasco.  And I’ve got the eye-witnesses right here.  How about you two fill me in all the way so I can figure out why the kid’s not packing to say his I Do’s to the strains of _Love Me Tender_.”

      “No… I don’t like to talk about that.”

Lestrade tugged again on Sam’s sleeve and gave him a nod when he caught the doctor’s eye.

      “Don’t see why not.  From what I hear, you were the hero of the hour.”

      “It… it wasn’t like that.”

      “Bollocks!  You _were_ a hero, Arthur.  Just like in the films.  I mean… I’m _here_ , aren’t I?”

      “No!  Heroes… they aren’t…”

      “Aren’t what, kid?”

      “Scared.  They aren’t scared and they don’t cry and they don’t hide no matter what Mycroft and Mr. Sherlock say.”

      “They sure the fuck are!  Arthur… I’ve seen more heroes than you can count on your fingers and toes. Men and women on the battlefield, firefighters, cops, medics… and you know what?  They _are_ scared.  And they _do_ cry.  And if they’re ordered to stand down or get out of the line of fire, they _obey_.  So, if you were or did any of that then you’re right in the middle of that dogpile and you can proudly call yourself a hero.  Mr. Les… Greg, how long do you think Arthur here got stuck groping your saggy, but properly-spelled, titties while he did CPR?”

      “Oh, a good h…half hour.  Longer maybe.”

      “No!  No… it wasn’t that long at all.  Not nearly that long!”

      “We drove for at nearly twenty, son.  And it had to t…take ten more for them to get their heads out of their arses and get to us.”

      “Half an hour!  Half a friggin’ hour of CPR!  More even!  Arthur… do you know how hard that is?  I’ve seen doctors crap out after fifteen on a practice dummy!  If you held it together that long, didn’t flag, didn’t give up…  I’m in awe.  I really am in awe.  And you had to have done a very, very good job if this thing is able to talk and think and move his limbs.  I don’t think you realize how ridiculous the odds are against that.  You deserve a cape, kid.  A cape and tights and a big letter H on your chest.  Your choice of color.   You agree with that, layabout?”

      “I do.  Every bit of it.  And I’ll tell you that, Arthur, every t…time you need to hear it.”

      “Then there you go!  From what I understand, you followed an order from your superior, and I use that term very loosely and only in the sense that he had a badge and you didn’t, and then you went above and beyond the call of duty in keeping his sorry self alive.  Now, you sit down with us and tell me your epic tale of heroic deeds.  Both of you, actually.  You can even dance and make it a variety show like Sonny and Cher.  Greggy-pie can start.”

      “Oh… I don’t know about this…”

      “Is your name Greggy-pie?  No, you are Arthur-pop.  So, he’ll start and you jump in when you have something to add and remember… I’m missing valuable TV time, so you had better make this exciting.”

      “It was a dark and stormy night…”

      “You are so full of shit, invalid, that it’s going to come out your ears like a fountain if you happen to sneeze.”

      “But, it _was_ dark… it wasn’t really stormy though, except there was some wind.  I could hear it when I was drawing and I even put some of those lines that mean it’s windy on some of my pictures.”

      “That’s right!  I’d actually f…forgotten about that.  So it was dark and windy and we were on a lonely road when suddenly there were headlights in the rear-view, coming up fast behind us.”

      “I couldn’t see that, though.”

      “Oh h…he came right up close like a bastard and it was just like in film when you know something bad’s about to happen.  Had to pull off to let him pass.”

      “You idiot.  That’s like going into the spooky basement alone even after you yank the cord on the light and it doesn’t work.”

      “Well I know that now don’t I!”

      “Oh those films always scare me!  You know they shouldn’t do that and you tell them and they still do it anyway!”

      “Then we know you won’t be running off alone into the woods either, or going skinny dipping at a summer camp.  Arthur here’s safe from all horror movie cliché forms of murderous death.”

      “Hurray!”

      “So back to the real movie you were in.  Greg, keep going.”

      “Ok… the next thing I know…

Sam and Greg took note of the change in Arthur’s expression and breathed a sigh of relief.  Putting his ordeal in a specific context and building in some support was making it easier for Arthur to put a little distance between himself and his suffering and talk about it in a way that wasn’t as threatening.  And Sam, especially, noted that his patient seemed fairly at ease, too, even as they moved through the shooting itself and the aftermath.

      “I thought for one w…weird moment that he’d missed.  Then I knew he hadn’t and… well… lucky Arthur was there.”

      “And when you first saw our lovely casualty here, he didn’t look anything like you see in the films, did he, kid?”

      “NO!  No, he didn’t.  I mean, he did, but it was completely different even though it was almost exactly the same!  I never actually thought about that, but you’re right…”

      “What’d I look like?  Don’t suppose you’ve got ph…photos of that?”

      “I don’t, but I really should have!  Oh, that was a very stupid thing not to do wasn’t it?  Anyway… oh, it’s so hard to think about…”

      “Try pretending you’re describing it to the guy who’s trying to set up the scene for your movie.  What to put where, what’s the colors and lighting like, stuff like that.  There’s your actor… go.”

      “Oh!  Well… Greg was on his back and he was still very much in the lights from the car, so I really could see everything.  His eyes were open and he was breathing bubbles, which was a lot scarier than you’d think bubbles could be and… you could see where the bullets had gone in.  And then there was the red.  It was _everywhere_ …”

      “What color red, kid?”

      “What?  Oh… _oh_.  Now that you mention it, it wasn’t quite as red as I would have thought.  It wasn’t quite the red they use to paint clown faces, but more like holiday-ball red.  You know those ones that aren’t as red as, well… red?”

      “Gregster, I believe we may conclude you bleed candy-apple red.”

      “I think I may cry.  There’s really nothing better is there?”

      “No.  Not in any universe.  This, of course, confirms beyond question that you are one fine piece of craftsmanship.  Vintage.  Classic.  Fuck my life, I probably bleed some lame Ford sorta-orange.”

      “I think I’m a bit lost.”

      “Not a car guy are you, Arthur… here, hold on…”

Sam leaned over and picked up the tablet at Lestrade’s beside and pulled up some images for Arthur to view.

      “See?  This is the king, son.  The king of automobile colors.  You take a classic fine-ass roadster, rebuild her from the ground up and then get her kissed with candy-apple red as the icing on the cake.”

      “You d…drive one of those down the road and everything with testicles stops to take notice.”

      “And cry.”

      “For a long time.”

      “I must say that that’s a very nice color, and… it _is_ what all the red that night looked like.  Greg’s got lovely blood!  Brilliant!”

      “I hate you, Lestrade.  But you have to put up with the stuffed goose, so maybe I hate you a little less.”

      “Your attempts at humor fail spectacularly as usual, Doctor Harris.  I am of a mind that you and Sherlock should form your own society of individuals desperately in need of instruction in the proper use of jest in society.”

      “Stuffed Goose!  I had no idea you were standing there looming and eavesdropping like a champ!”

      “John has arrived.  You may go.”

      “About time, that lazy shit.  And he’ll have a big grin on his face, just you watch, because his reason for showing up this late is going to involve all sorts of noises and fluids that I don’t need to hear about since my love life is on hold until I get a night free from this prison.  And I _am_ putting condoms on my bill for this service, Goose.”

      “Can you exist in any other state but vulgar?”

      “When’d they add that to the US?  I really thought Puerto Rico would come in before we looked at any of the other territories.”

      “Leave.”

      “Honk.”

      “Mycroft, why can’t Doctor Sam stay awhile longer?  Oh!  I know! I can make breakfast and we can all have breakfast and I can wake up Skip and…”

      “Doctor Harris, I believe has business to attend to corresponding to his unexpected leave of absence from his usual place of employment.”

      “And see if there are any bars open at sunrise o’clock.”

      “Hey, can I go, too?”

      “I think you, ancient and decrepit one, would cramp my style.  I’ll bring you back something.”

      “You most certainly will not!  Gregory is prohibited alcohol of any form.”

      “Well thank you, Doctor Goose.  Just why the fuck did you bring me in when you’re farting out medical degrees right and left?”

      “Hah!  I’m getting Mycroft a stuffed goose toy when Skip and I go out again… maybe two, because geese like to be together.  Did you know a group of geese is called a gaggle?  That is a brilliant name for a group of _anything_ , but geese do sort of sound like that when there’s lots all talking to each other at once.”

      “See if you can find one with little baby geese.  Lots of little baby geese.  So many that you could put them around his chair and pen him in like a demon in a ring of salt.  Best part is that geese stare.  And crap.  Salt doesn’t.”

      “That is a door.  It is a very ancient concept that has evolved through a variety of incarnations to the relatively simplified version we see before us.  However, the general principle remains unchanged.  Exit and entry.  Kindly make immediate use of the former.”

      “Woo!  It’s gotten all syllably up in here!  Player’s gotta breathe!”

      “TO THE EGRESS!”

      “Calm down, Barnum… you’re not going to get any boinkity-boink from our little red corvette here if your head pops off your shoulders.  Arthur, Greg, you’ve got my number if you need me.  If anyone named Tammy answers, just ask for Big Daddy.  She’ll know who you mean.”

Sam grinned widely while Lestrade tried to stop laughing at his partner’s grand-scale irritation.  Then, with a pat on Arthur’s back and a ruffling of his hair, Sam shouldered past a glowering Mycroft and sniggered his way out of the room.

      “There are a legion of highly-skilled medical practitioners available, Gregory.  May I please be permitted to have this one pilloried and secure you a more congenial replacement?”

      “And miss all this fun?  Not on your life.”

      “Mycroft, you can’t fire Doctor Sam!  He’s brilliant!  We figured out what color Greg’s blood was and he makes Greg laugh, and you know they say laughter is the best medicine, so Greg will have to get better faster if he gets to laugh a lot.  Since you make him laugh and Doctor Sam makes him laugh, that means he’ll get well doubly-quick!  I think I’m going to go make some tea.  I’m sure Doctor Watson will want tea this early in the morning and I haven’t had any either, so teatime it is!  I’ll make another tiny weak one for you, Greg.  Be right back.”

Arthur bounded out of the room and Mycroft suspected the boy would actually get breakfast started in addition to tea.  With the day he had ahead of him, a hearty Arthurian meal might be what he needed for increased fortitude.

      “Have a seat, love and chat awhile.  Or don’t you have the time to spare?”

      “A few minutes, but I do have an early morning so I must depart shortly.  I take it that the Visigoth pronounced you suitably fit after your first night at home?”

      “Not a problem to report.  Actually, I was up most of the night.  Nerves, I guess.  We watched a lot of telly, talked sports… just woke up from a nap awhile ago.”

Mycroft picked up the tablet and ran an eye over the images.  John had said that it was permissible to set goals, give his Gregory things for which to look forward…

      “Would you be interested in undertaking such a task yourself, my dear?”

Lestrade craned his neck to see what Mycroft meant and the older Holmes held the tablet higher for him to see his meaning.

      “Restore an old car?  That’s been a dream of mine since I was a kid.  I mean, I’ve sort of done it, at least bringing one near death back to running shape, but never a real restoration.”

      “Then let us consider that as potential future project.  The location where the BMW is housed boasts an abundance of space where automotive work could be performed indoors and in a climate-controlled environment.  There really is no reason you could not make use of the space to, shall we say, build a friend for our precious vehicle?  I see you have already decided on a scheme for the paint.”

There was little in the world that could make Mycroft as happy as seeing his partner smile and he was rewarded generously by the very wide grin that lit up the whole of Lestrade’s face.

      “Are you serious?  You’ve got a little garage space I could use?  I have to ad…admit that would make working a lot easier.  And more comfortable.  I just don’t know if I’d have the time.”

      “As greatly as I desire to spend the sum of all my moments with you, Gregory, we both know our schedules will often leave us without the company of the other.  You have, as part of your typical days, enjoyed time devoted to reading or watching your sports programs.  While I would hope that a portion of that time could be available now for shared enjoyment, another portion could easily be devoted to a project of your choice.  And, of course, it is not as if you would operate under a deadline…”

Lestrade let his eyes close and thought about himself revitalizing a poor, neglected classic.  He’d have to find the right one and how much fun would it be taking Mycroft out on a car hunt.  Then finding the parts, doing the work… maybe not a candy-apple paint job, but something that caught every eye in the area… it would take forever, but it would be unbelievable!

      “Are you sleeping?”

      “Dreaming, but not sleeping.  That’s a really good idea, Mycroft.  That’s an amazing idea.  You’ll help right?”

      “I can assure you that my skills are restricted to the operation of a motor vehicle and not its upkeep.”

      “Then I can show you.  Once in awhile, if we have a day f…free?”

      “I find it very difficult to refuse you anything, my dear.  I accept your offer, even if the extent of my contribution is properly supervising your work and providing motivation if your efforts falter.”

      “I like motivation.”

Thus the reason for this entire conversation.

      “Then I shall be vigorous in my encouragement.  You may consider specific ways you might appreciate receiving that encouragement while I work for the good of the people today.  An initiative for which I must now depart.  You will notify me if you have any needs or concerns, correct?”

      “Mobile is right here in my bed bag.”

      “Excellent.  Do enjoy your day, Gregory.  I cannot predict the time of my return, but I will do my best to notify you if I shall be late.”

      “Have fun saving the world.  Kiss for your old man?”

He could kiss his Gregory.  He could kiss him in their home, every morning he was able… Mycroft felt something unwind just a small fraction in his chest and he could breathe just that tiny bit easier.  Their life was starting and all of the little rituals, traditions, expectations… even annoyances and irritations… were something he greatly anticipated.

      “Oh, I suppose I could make time for affection.”

Mycroft leaned over and took his time kissing his wounded partner, getting very lost in the taste and feel of Lestrade’s mouth.  It was only the very pointed throat clearing in the room that kept him from possibly being very tardy for his appointments.

      “See?  Tea!  Oh, and Mycroft, Doctor Watson said you were about to leave, so I put yours in a nice travel cup to take with you.  And here… I packed a little breakfast nibble for you to eat in your car.  Can’t start the day on an empty stomach!  Well, you can, but then you get a rumbly tummy and have to apologize to people and I can’t imagine that you’d like to have to do that while you’re trying to rule London.  People might look at you oddly and we can’t have that, now can we?”

      “Yes, the awkward noises of hunger are a significant detriment to any official demonstration of power.  Thank you, Arthur.  I am, as always, quite thankful for your attentive care.  Gregory, enjoy your tea.  Arthur, enjoy your day.”

      “Bye, Mycroft!  We’ll see you later!  Whenever later happens to be!”

Mycroft shared a final smile with his lover and took his leave, nodding to John as he entered to start his rounds at their makeshift hospital.

      “Everyone is alive.  The American scourge apparently showed favor to his subjects.”

      “Doctor Sam did a great job with Greg.  I got up a few times to have a tinkle, because I had rather a lot of juice and milk before bedtime, and they were doing things all night long.”

      “All night long?  Get _any_ sleep, Greg?”

      “Some.  Sam said he’d give me something, but I didn’t want it.  Maybe tonight if I can’t nod off on my own.”

      “Ok, that’s fine.  Even finer would be some of whatever it is I smell in the kitchen.  How about Arthur and I plate up some breakfast and you can watch us eat?”

      “Torture is prohibited by the Geneva C…Convention.”

      “We’ll start looking at getting you a full English breakfast in a few days.  Of course, you’ll have to say hello to nappies or a bedpan…”

      “Changed my mind.  I do not want any breakfast.  Or lunch.  Or dinner.  Ever.”

      “Don’t worry, I’ll buy you the ones with cartoon characters on them.  Arthur’ll help me shop.”

      “Brilliant!  I mean, not that Greg has to wear a nappy, but I’ve seen little tykes with the cutest ones.  Don’t worry, Greg.  We’ll get you something that will make you smile every time you see them!”

      “Oh, that makes it all better…”

__________

 Mycroft consumed his very convoluted breakfast offering, which with the nuclear tea, braced his body for what would be a typically busy day.  It was to his credit that he surrounded himself with supremely competent staff so that his prolonged physical absence had not brought the government toppling to the ground like a house of cards.  This gave him more than a little hope that the very novel concept of a holiday might actually be something he could explore more fully.  Especially now that he had someone with whom a relaxing holiday would be a blessed event.

It was late in the afternoon when his mobile sounded with a tone that took the edge cleanly off of his previously pleasant day.

      “Mr. Warren, how good it is to hear from you.”

And by ‘good,’ Mycroft meant a variety of terms that reflected the word’s polar opposite.

      “It _has_ been awhile, hasn’t it, Mr. Holmes.  And I take it that condolences are in order.  Please accept my sympathy for the loss of your… companion.”

      “It could not be helped.”

A light hand would be necessary for this conversation.  Delicacy was the proper tool for this particular mission.

      “I would appreciate hearing the details from you.  I have pieces of the story but, as we both know, pieces do not necessarily make a whole.”

      “How true.  It is quite simple; you are not unaware of Edgar’s, shall we say, volatility.  He became inappropriately jealous of a dalliance of mine and made the unfortunate decision to remove that dalliance from my life.  Normally, this would not have been a terribly troubling issue, however, my plaything is also my source within the Metropolitan Police Service.  A Detective Inspector, in point of fact.”

      “He killed a DI?”

      “Attempted to, actually.  It is through no small effort on my part that the man still lives and reports of the incident have been kept out of the media.  However, it was quite clear to me that if Edgar’s behavior was that unpredictable and could escalate to such an extraordinary level of stupidity, his company was none that I would choose to keep.  And his potential threat to our… projects… could not go unaddressed.”

The man was a liability and a dangerous one at that.  Hopefully, he had painted that picture thoroughly, but in such a manner that screamed he was in no-way perturbed by personally ending the life of another human being.  Casually callous… the suit fit him well, much to Mycroft’s discomfort.

      “Unfortunately, I must agree.   Behavior that rash cannot be tolerated, especially since I understand he perpetrated a few additional indiscretions within our little community.  I would have thought, however, that you would have been able to use a firmer hand with him to avoid such _complications_.”

As if he was the man’s father!  Though Edgar did, on occasion, enjoy that bit of gameplay in the bedroom.

      “Once cannot use a sufficiently firm a hand on an open flame.  Edgar was what he was and _that_ was someone who was ultimately concerned with one thing – himself.  It is one of the reasons I do so much enjoy my Detective Inspector.  He is _very_ amenable to a firm hand and that has served me quite well.  Now, I must bide my time until he can be rehabilitated back to work.”

      “You are taking care of that, I expect?”

      “Certainly.  I would not waste such a valuable asset.  The monies spent on his care will be repaid a hundred fold by his continuous and, very grateful, service to me.”

      “Would were we all so fortunate.  Now, I am in London for a few days and I believe we have matters to discuss in person.  Are you available?”

      “Depending on the day, I can make myself available.  Do you have one to suggest?”

      “Dinner tomorrow night.  I shall send along the specifics.  How does that sound to you?”

      “I do not foresee a problem.  I am, in fact, looking forward to it.”

      “Good.  Until tomorrow then.”

And the call was ended with no further pleasantries.  Mycroft considered himself fortunate, on one hand, that the call had not come sooner, when his faculties were not as coalesced as they were now.  On the other, he had harbored a minute and utterly fantastical hope that his involvement in and concern with the child trafficking situation had simply vanished into the air like a sound.  However, his situation had actually improved by the untimely demise of Edgar Peterson, so for that one thing, he would thank the parasite.  Now, he needed to make a thorough review of his files on William Warren and think.  Plan.  Reflect and predict.  All very much his specialty, but first… he felt a very powerful urge to reassure himself about his partner’s health.  Until this disgraceful business was concluded, it would serve as a continued source of worry for further threats to Lestrade’s health and Mycroft knew he would struggle with the additional weight.

      “Mr. Holmes, if this is you, you had better have a damned good reason for calling and bothering me.”

      “Why are _you_ present in my home, Doctor Harris?”

      “Because John got dragged away by loverboy and asked if I could come in early to cover.  Already I’m on overtime and this is only Day 2 of my sentence.  I think it’s time for some renegotiation.”

      “Since we have yet to formally negotiate anything, your demand is premature.”

      “There is _nothing_ premature about Samuel Harris.  You can check the wall in every ladies room in every bar around the hospital for confirmation.”

      “You are a blight.”

      “This really isn’t as much fun when I can’t watch your face turn purple.”

      “Give the phone to Gregory.”

      “No.”

      “If I have to send troops to my own home to have you removed…”

      “He’s sleeping.  Do you really want me to wake him up so you can ask him if he’s ok?”

Mycroft tore to shreds some memorandum on his desk, then took a breath and swept them into a little pile for someone to reassemble so he could actually read the contents.

      “That will not be necessary.  As long as I have your assurance that Gregory is well, then that is all I require.”

      “I’m fine, too.  Just so you know.”

      “I have little use for disappointing news.”

      “You coming home soon?”

Mycroft looked at his pile of memo, which had not, at least been marked URGENT, ran through his mental scheduling book and came across nothing that would mandate his continued presence in his office.

      “I may find my way home soon, yes.  Why do you ask?”

      “I like some forewarning to get the bear trap rigged.  Also, why don’t you stop and pick up whatever beer your boyfriend likes.  He can have a few thimblefuls tonight and I think a nice evening, just the two of you kicking back and relaxing would do you both some good.  I’ll keep Arthur and Martin occupied and out of the way while you and Greg get some time together.”

How one man could be so utterly infuriating was a mystery Mycroft had no intention of trying to disentangle.  Unfortunately, he was occasionally useful and that alone would keep him from deportation.

      “I am certain Gregory would appreciate the gesture.  He… he and I have shared some very enjoyable evenings in the quiet of my home.  It will be good to begin having them again.”

      “Then we have a plan.  I’ve convinced Arthur out of cooking a Henry VIII feast, so bring grub, too.  I like Italian, but I’m easy.  Which can _also_ be verified by the wall of any…”

And call terminated.  With prejudice.  As soon as his Gregory was firmly on the road to recovery, Mycroft would delight in bringing his adversary to his trembling knees, but for now… he actually knew a very good Italian restaurant on the route home that did marvelous take-away…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of smaller Mystrade, Johnlock and Martin/Arthur fics on my tumblr:
> 
> http://eventhorizon451.tumblr.com/short_works
> 
> Feel free to stop by and browse!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My continued thanks for all of the encouragement!

True to his word, and much to Mycroft’s surprise, Sam kept Martin and Arthur’s attention occupied, so that the newest of the Holmes couples could enjoy an evening in their new home.  It was an idea and a feeling that sent shivers down Mycroft’s spine every time he thought about where they actually were, despite the medical trappings.  It wouldn’t be long before that these nights would be spent far more agreeably, but he was sorely regretting agreeing with John’s prohibition of building a fire in the room due to respiratory concerns.  His beloved did so dearly enjoy a fire.

      “What do you think they’re doing out there?”

      “Something that would prompt my head to throb if I were to check, I suspect.”

      “Probably.  But I bet they’re having fun, though.”

Mycroft couldn’t think of a reason to disagree.

      “Likely.  Though my poor furniture may not survive their version of fun.  I believe I heard talk of fort building and the painting of emblems on individual camps.”

      “You did not, filthy liar.”

      “Perhaps my hearing was impaired by some blockage.”

      “Besides, from what Sherlock told me, nothing could be worse than what your f…fake-ex put in this place.  Heard it was a decorator’s worst nightmare.”

      “Ghastly.  And at a cost that could purchase Arthur’s ‘little house’ with funds remaining.  Fortunately, I was able to actually find a decorator who was happy to take the offending items at a good price, so my pockets did not suffer too significant an impact from the debacle.”

And here was a perfect opening for the issue he knew he had to discuss with his Gregory.  Normally, work-related matters would not be something he could often share, but in this case, it was important, he felt, that he do so.

      “But along those lines… my attentions may be turned for a time back towards the situation that made, originally, my relationship with Edgar necessary.  That particular matter has yet to find resolution and I must take steps to close that file permanently.”

If it was within his power, Mycroft would have a certain name be declared illegal so his Detective Inspector would never have to suffer its sound in his ears.  It was heartbreaking to see the man flinch when it was spoken.

      “You won’t… Mycroft… am I going to lose you again?”

It was a fair question and, happily, one the elder Holmes could answer confidently.

      “No.  You are not.  That is _not_ a possibility.  Even with… _him_ … you never lost me, Gregory.  I could no more remove you from my heart than I could rip said heart from my chest and continue to live.   There shall always hang over my head a cloud of duplicity, however, on that one issue you shall always have the certainty of truth.  However, I may find myself pressed for time during the next several days.  An individual vital to my efforts is currently in London and it will behoove me to make good use of that time.  We are, for example, dining together tomorrow, so I shall not be available to you for some hours in the evening.  Your, as you prefer to call it, panic button will remain functional and you will receive immediate support for any form of emergency should it arise.”

      “I’ll be fine, Mycroft.  I’ve got doctors in the house and John’s trained to defend himself.  I’d wager Sam’s got a few tricks up his sleeve, too.”

      “We should not dwell on his _tricks_ for the sake of our sanity, my dear.”

      “You love him.”

      “As I love intestinal parasites.”

      “It’s a start.  So, this person you have to meet… he dangerous?”

As the years stretched forwards, now helpful it would be that the Detective Inspector was not a fragile orchid, unaware or sensitive to the harder sides of the work they did.

      “Not as such.  He far prefers the role of an administrator than taking matters into his own hands.  It will be a cordial meal, boring from a social standpoint, but very interesting from a strategic one.”

      “You know… I’ve never asked, but you _can_ defend yourself, right?  Been trained and all that?  I mean, I always assumed so, but if you want I can show you some d…dirty tricks…”

      “Good heavens, Gregory!  I can assure you that I am quite capable of participating in and emerging victorious from an altercation.  I am also quite skilled in the use of a variety of weapons and have had call to use them in the past.  Surely you remember the scars on…”

Combat training could not save you from stepping on a landmine, however.  And this one hurt more than himself.

      “No.  I don’t.”

      “I apologize.  I forget sometimes how _unusual_ has been our relationship.”

      “Doesn’t matter.

      “Yes.  Yes, it does.  I find myself going about my day and noticing little things that once I would have paid no attention.  The mention of a gift, a romantic assignation, a holiday, the hints of an especially pleasurable evening and realize to my extreme shame that I could not share any such information, even if I were inclined to do so.  For I have given you nothing.  No gift has ever been forthcoming, though you suffered the knowledge that I do gift those with whom I am involved, we have not shared an evening out that was for sole the purpose of celebrating the romantic side of our relationship, our excursion to Fitton was shadowed from the onset and then… well, we are quite aware down which path it ultimately led.  And I am well aware of the status of our physical relationship or, rather, the lack of status in that area.  I forget, though… if that is any consolation.  I forget that we have not known each other to a great extent physically, because it is not something that affects how much I love and adore you.  When we are able to more fully explore that aspect of our union, I cannot, in all honesty, see that love and adoration deepening for it already consumes me from each cell of my body.  That is not to say I do not eagerly anticipate verifying my hypothesis.”

Mycroft hoped that his small grin was as flirtatious and teasing as he intended, because he needed his Gregory to smile.  Not wanted, _needed_.  As long as it was possible for him to bring a smile to his lover’s face, he could retain hope that he could someday find forgiveness, both from his partner and from himself.  And today, he could consider his hope still alive as he listened to the DI’s quiet laugh.

      “Randy bastard.  And I expect to be wined and dined first.  Sam may be easy, but I’m not.  My mum raised me proper.”

And teasing.  He was in no way worthy of this man, but he would fight every day to keep him.

      “Then wining and dining you shall have.  As soon as you are medically cleared, we shall make quite the night of it.  For now, you may have another sip of your beer.  You still have a small ways to go until you reach your limit line.”

      “I cannot believe Sam d…drew a line on my beer!”

      “That you are permitted _any_ , considering your level of medication, is highly suspect already, so you should not question his actions too loudly, lest he rethink the fine print of his medical oath.”

      “He really does have a medical degree, right?”

      “Despite all evidence to the contrary, yes.  A rather good one at that.  And, though I do not wish to contemplate the reason, he also possesses a degree in law, and maintained a valid license to practice until he relocated to London.”

      “Now, that’s a scary combination.”

      “I suspect it was to guarantee himself the ability to manipulate certain situations of a less than legal nature when he found himself embroiled in their center.”

      “You’re probably right.  But you know… if my arse was jammed up, I would probably think about calling him for help.  He’s got a way of making things happen and getting what he wants.”

      “And creating mental calamity.”

      “Perfect for a man of law!”

      “Actually, on that point, I must agree.  However, I can assure than any ‘jamming’ will be handled in a far more expedient and restful fashion that soliciting help from a certain nameless party.”

      “Expedient, restful and _legal_ , right?”

Naturally.  So long as it was the quickest method and success was absolutely guaranteed.

      “Certainly.  It would not do for a law enforcement official to have his wicked ways with the letter of the law.”

      “That’s reserved for politicians.”

      “How astute you are, my dear.  I rejoice every day for the clarity of you insights.”

      “Won’t be clear much longer if you’d just let me have the whole of my beer, but it might be a lot m…more interesting.”

      “Small steps, my dear.  Very small steps.”

      “But I’ve got long legs!”

      “Something already on my list for exploration.”

__________

Mycroft was as content as he had ever been, conversing with his partner and finally watching him drift to sleep as they viewed a film Mycroft had purposefully chosen for its soothing soundtrack and languid pace.  It was a positive evening.  One for which he took a deep breath and reveled in the knowledge that it would be repeated over and over until his time on Earth was done.  A small tidying of the room preceded his exit and Mycroft was not at all surprised that the greater untidiness was to be found in his sitting room.

      “Mycroft!  Greg must be sleeping or you wouldn’t be coming out here to be with us.  Did you have fun?  We’ve been having a brilliant time!”

      “We enjoyed a very comfortable evening and yes, Gregory is currently resting.”

      “When I check that bottle, there had better not be any indication of drinking below the waterline.”

      “Spare me your pathological need to question my abilities to care for Gregory’s welfare, Doctor Harris.”

      “I don’t question your abilities, I question your backbone if he bats those big eyes at you and says pretty-please.”

There was, Mycroft knew, some truth to that notion…

      “Gregory enjoyed his appointed measure of lager and not a sip more.”

      “Don’t worry, Mycroft.  I have the same problem with Arthur.  He smiles and laughs and I don’t care if he’s asking to pull my teeth to make a necklace, I’d probably say yes.”

Arthur’s sheepish look was another thing that could propel Martin into being his eternal indentured servant.  Martin sincerely hoped that his fiancé had no requests at the moment because Arthur looked positively radiant and the captain would have no power to refuse.

      “You’re so sweet, Skip!  And I promise not to ask for your teeth until you’re finished with them.”

      “Good, then I can rest easy.  Mycroft, you want to join us?  Just a bit of poker and not strip poker, despite this supposed medical professional’s lengthy and gesture-filled argument.”

Ahh… it seemed the Holmes genes were solidly aligned against the bumpkin.  Mycroft could not have been more proud of his cousin.

      “Only because you two can’t stand the shame of my old body outclassing yours on every count.  I mean, look at these?  Those young studs at the gym would weep for arms like mine.”

Mycroft averted his eyes as the doctor drew up his shirtsleeves but quickly looked back at Arthur’s shriek.

      “YOU HAVE A TATTOO!”

And, for the first time, Mycroft watched something flicker across Sam’s face that wasn’t ridiculous, snide, bawdy or smug.  And it was far too _real_ to make Mycroft entirely comfortable.

      “Oh, yeah.  Forgot about that.”

      “No!  Don’t pull down your sleeve, let me see it.”

Not that Sam had much choice, with Arthur leaping over and rolling up the sleeve so he could more closely examine the artwork, which Mycroft noticed was in no way recent, but maintained a great deal of color.  And was quite large.

      “This is brilliant!  There’s a stack of books and oh! Mycroft!  there are art things in here, too and one of those lovely old globes that had its own stand… this is so beautiful, Doctor Sam.”

      “Thanks.  I’ve had it a long time.  It’s probably in need of a touch-up, haven’t had that done in a hell of a long time, but I also don’t prance around in the sun much, either.

      “Does it… I’ve heard, that is, that tattoos usually have some meaning.”

      “Honestly, Martin… it’s what I like to call _that_ life.  The life that stands on the other side of what you have.  The life you think about and know it’s not for you, but you think about it sometimes anyway.  My son used to love to trace out the lines when he was small.  Kept him quiet when I was holding him, so I wore a lot of wifebeaters in those days to keep the peace.”

Mycroft observed the doctor closely and saw again that flash of something tired and, perhaps regretful, flow through his archenemy’s eyes.

      “YOU HAVE A SON!”

That shriek was even louder than the first and Mycroft found himself mentally running through the man’s file and finding the small notation that he had considered unimportant at the time.  Now… again, Mycroft found himself shifting a little uncomfortably on his feet, especially watching that regret sink deeper into the doctor’s bones.

      “Had, Arthur.  It was a long time ago.”

Martin was quick to put his hand on Arthur’s knee because he knew that Arthur’s tender heart was primed to break.

      “Had?  Oh no, oh no no no… tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it means even though it always means what I think it means but maybe this time I’m wrong.”

      “Wish I could, kid.   Jimmy and his mom… it was car accident.  She took him out of school early for a dentist’s appointment and… guy got distracted and ran a red light.  It was quick, at least.  I don’t think they suffered.  He was… he was seven.”

Martin hoped the doctor’s ribs would withstand the force of the hug that Arthur leaned over to give him.  What a horrible thing… it made Martin wonder how much of the man’s force-of-nature personality was to cover something inside that still ached.  He knew that if that happened to him, if he lost Arthur like that, he doubted that his heart would ever heal.  And to lose a child…

      “I’m so sorry, Doctor Sam.  You must really miss them a lot.”

      “It’s ok, Arthur, but I appreciate the hug.  And yeah, I do.  It’s been nearly twenty years, but I still miss them very much.”

Mycroft was always uneasy when honest emotion was on display, unless it was part of a situation of his own making and for a specific purpose, so the scene in front of him was a difficult one to witness.  As much as he wished Samuel Harris contracted some form of flesh-eating disease that began its work in the region of the mouth, he could not help but feel a pang of _something_ hearing the man’s story.  He had noticed the ‘widower’ designation in his file, but the word felt very sterile compared to the reality of which he had now caught a very small glimpse.  That would be him now if his Gregory had not survived his ordeal…

      “Well, if you ever get sad, you just call me and I’ll cheer you up.  I’m brilliant at cheering people up.  Here, give me your mobile…”

Sam extracted his phone from his pocket and handed it to Arthur for what he knew would be the inputting of every possible mode of contact for the young steward.

      “There.  Now you can talk to me whenever you want!  Even if you’re not feeling sad.”

      “That’s mighty nice of you, Arthur.  I promise you’ll get a buzz whenever I need it.  And speaking of buzzes, what might Mr. Fancy Pants keep in his liquor cabinet that’ll put hair on your chest?”

      “Ugh, I don’t know, but I don’t think I’d want any, thank you.  Mycroft, you don’t actually have anything like that, do you?”

      “Perish the thought, but allow me a moment and I shall pour something appropriate.  However, Doctor Harris, do _not_ request more than a single glass.  You are contracted to provide a service, as you are undoubtedly aware.  One for which you must retain control of your faculties.”

      “I took a man’s leg off once after a fifth of Bacardi and a bag of Cheetos.”

      “You must be very proud.”

      “Life’s hard in the hood.”

__________

Mycroft chose to take the morning at home to make preparations for his dinner meeting and enjoyed Arthur’s fine breakfast as a little bonus.  Who would have thought that porridge could be so nicely enhanced by both some form of apple jelly candy and feta…  the discussion surrounding pairing fruit with cheese lasted through the entire meal and Mycroft happily shared the text of the discussion with his partner, who could not be party to the gathering around the table.  Then it was several hours in his study working between hard-copy and digital material to review all relevant material pertaining to the night’s task and crafting suitable lies, subterfuges, camouflages, etc. that might be required to push the meeting in the direction for which he was hoping.  It was early afternoon before he finally gathered himself together to travel to his office and oversee other matters before his evening began.

      “Mycroft!  Are you leaving!  I was just going to make some lunch...”

      “Unfortunately, I doubt that I would have sufficient time to properly enjoy your lovely meal, however, I am certain that Martin and John are very eager to sample your efforts.”

      “Skip said he’s full from breakfast and Doctor Watson said the same thing, which is very strange since neither ate a very much this morning.  I guess they’re just having a small-stomach day!  Oh, but I did want to ask you if you had any more drawing paper.  And pencils.  Or if you had any markers and clay.”

      “I take it you have a variety of projects planned.”

      “I do!  Skip wanted today to do some reading and maybe play on the flight simulator game you put on the telly in our room, which I think he has rather taken a fancy to.  The game, I mean, not the telly.  Though he does look very fondly at the telly, too.  So, I talked to Greg about new things he’d like for his room and then realized I’ve run out of supplies.”

      “It is to my discredit that I cannot offer you replacements at this time, however…”

Mycroft looked again at his watch and decided an extra bright spot to his day would not significantly impact his schedule.

      “…I am aware of very good art supply shop and I would be happy to take you for a quick round of shopping.  The car can deliver you home after it has deposited me at my office.  Will that be acceptable to you?”

      “Brilliant!  That sounds like the best plan ever!  Let me tell Skip and then we can go.  Oh, and I’ll get a bag, too, to carry all my things.  Just a moment.”

Arthur ran off and Mycroft chuckled at the enthusiasm.  But, he had to admit, he had a measure of his own eagerness, just more tightly reined.  It had been a very long time since he had browsed for art supplies and he was quite eager to learn what there was to be had.  Gregory did very much enjoy the work he had produced and it would be a joy to continue to exercise his talents for both their benefits.  After a few minutes, Mycroft had to wonder what was keeping his shopping companion and was not at all pleased to find him frantically scribbling in his detective’s-assistant notebook as Sherlock, slung across the sofa, dictated a shopping list.

      “To begin, brother dear, why are you present in my home and to end, why are you burdening Arthur with your errands?”

      “I am bored.  That satisfies your initial nosiness.  As for errands, you are visiting a shop that has supplies I could make use of for an experiment.  Arthur will gather them for me.”

Mycroft motioned Arthur to hand over the notebook and tried not to laugh at the hieroglyphics that filled the page.  Taking Sherlock’s impatient dictation was not for the faint of heart.  With a quick jerk of his fingers, Mycroft ripped out the page, balled it and lobbed in cleanly onto Sherlock’s stomach.

      “Arthur is not your manservant.  If you have need of materials, you can acquire them yourself.”

      “Boring and a waste of my valuable time.”

      “As opposed to safeguarding my sofa from aerial abduction.”

      “Your understanding is not necessary and your sarcasm is deflated.”

      “Mycroft… it’s really alright if Mr. Sherlock wants me to pick up a few things for him.”

      “Arthur, do you actually remember any of the items that Sherlock listed?”

      “Well…. not really.  But that’s why I wrote them down.”

      “And could you discern the names of those items from the list you were preparing?”

      “It might have been a bit difficult.  I _was_ having to write rather fast.”

      “Sherlock, either you conduct your own shopping or be content to do without.  It is entirely your choice.”

      “It is foolish to make two trips when it is unnecessary.  And will produce a surplus of air pollution due to exhaust fumes.  Very anti-environmental.”

      “Then you may accompany us.”

      “I would rather immerse myself in lye.”

      “So be it.  Arthur, let us make haste to the car.”

      “Oh… ok.  Bye Mr. Sherlock!  It’s too bad you’re not coming because it’s going to be brilliant and you could get all of your things and maybe even find others you didn’t even know you needed!”

As they walked toward the front door, Mycroft predicted a ten-count before his brother erupted but was not surprised that Sherlock capitulated after only reaching the number six.  Sherlock stalked past his two shopping companions and was in the waiting vehicle before Mycroft and Arthur even reached the edge of the walk.

      “He must _really_ be bored.”

      “That _is_ Sherlock’s natural state…”

__________

Arthur wasn’t sure if this was the very best shop in the world, because he hadn’t been in all of them yet, but it definitely was one of the top.  Everywhere he looked were amazing things and he had to put his hands in his pockets so that he didn’t give in to the urge to reach out and touch.  Because if he touched them, he’d play with them and then he’d have to buy them and if he bought everything he wanted he wouldn’t have enough room in his shopping bag.  And even someone as nice as Mycroft might get a bit cross if he had to pay for a big shopping bag full of craft supplies.  He’d have to choose very carefully… but it all looked so wonderful!  And… they sold their own shopping bags!

Mycroft felt something slide beneath his skin that felt suspiciously like… youth.  It had been so very long since he had taken the time to exercise his talents, but looking about the shop, taking in the sights and smells… he was transported back decades to a time when he would wander through similar places, spending hours finding just the right colors, textures, papers…  Gregory would enjoy a shop like this.  He was so curious about things, whether they be big or small, and each item would catch his attention and demand examination.  It would be Mycroft’s honor and delight to spend an afternoon explaining all the tools of the trade, the differences in paints and pencils… a brief surge of emotion hit him right below his ribs and Mycroft was very glad no one was near to see his excitement.  Especially not his brother, who was already harassing the shop owner for some variety of ink that the elder Holmes was fairly certain had not been manufactured since the late 1960’s.  Perhaps it was a fortuitous thing that his time today was limited, so the poor proprietor would have to suffer little of Sherlock’s wrath.

After a further twenty minutes and three jubilant ‘Mycroft!  You have to see this!’ outbursts from Arthur, Mycroft pried his brother away from attempting to pick apart canvas samples and paid for their purchases, hushing Arthur’s protests and distracting him with a gift of a new book on origami.  With the business conducted, all three men found themselves exiting the shop with far more in their hands than they had anticipated.

      “That shop was brilliant!  And so is my new book!  And my pens and pencils clay and chalk and… EVERYTHING!  Thank you so much… really, I can’t wait to get started with my ideas.”

      “The pleasure is all mine, Arthur.  I look very forward to seeing what you craft.”

      “Mr. Sherlock?  Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

      “I will begin my statement of gratitude when the Earth’s core freezes into a cold ball of iron.”

      “Oh… well, alright then.  I guess.  Though I do suspect you are being cheeky.”

      “Oh very good, Arthur.  You’re gaining great skill in properly categorizing Sherlock’s attempted witticisms.”

      “Well, hurray for me, then!”

      “And as a prize, I know that Sherlock will be happy to treat you to lunch before you return home.  You did sacrifice your meal for this outing.”

      “That would be quite nice, actually.  Do you think we can?”

Arthur turned his large puppy eyes towards Sherlock, who scowled darkly, but even Arthur seemed to know it was a façade, if Arthur’s giggle was any indication.

      “Then it is settled.  My brother will escort you to lunch and perhaps you can bring something…”

      “Or perhaps I can invite you all to lunch with me, instead.”

Three heads whirled and it took every ounce of Mycroft’s will not to let his thoughts show on his face.

      “William… how thoroughly unexpected to find you here, considering the size of London.”

      “It _is_ a happy coincidence, isn’t it?  I’ve been visiting jewelers all day, can’t ignore my anniversary or my wife will happily become my ex-wife, and now I find myself ready for a bite to eat.  Please say you’ll join me.  You and… why, I do believe that is your brother.  He does look somewhat different from his photographs, however, the general _attitude_ is unmistakable.  This gentleman, however… I believe that he is not the usual companion I have seen presented in the newspapers.  They do seem quite friendly… might this be another of your brother’s live-in _associates_?”

Mycroft rarely had reason to thank his brother, but offered him a silent word of gratitude when the detective quickly laid a stilling hand on Arthur’s shoulder, stopping him from jumping into the conversation with his characteristic vigor.

      “The eminent Doctor Watson is currently engaged in other business and could not accompany us for our afternoon.  And I, unfortunately, must decline the invitation for lunch.  I have many items to attend to if I am to be present at our meeting this evening.”

      “Which we can complete now!  That will be a better fit for my schedule anyway.  And I shall have the bonus of meeting new friends.”

The algorithms in Mycroft’s mind processed every possible outcome of rejecting the invitation and none gave him a satisfactory answer.  The possible outcomes of accepting were nearly as dire, but a few did offer hope of promoting his objective and… Sherlock was not entirely incapable of acting a part when the situation so demanded it.  Further, they both had some meager talent at channeling Arthur’s genial nature away from potential areas of difficulty.

      “Then how can I refuse?  Shall we say the Greek restaurant at which we dined when you were last in the city?  We can meet you in, say, fifteen minutes?”

Mycroft ignored the fact that his brother’s glare was trying to sever his head from his neck and that Arthur was only being held in check by Sherlock’s arm squeezing his shoulder.

      “Wonderful!  I shall see you then.”

With a little bow, their lunch date took his leave and Mycroft casually dragged his two charges into their car.  He let out a small sigh of relief when Sherlock waited until the car door was closed before exploding.

      “HOW DARE YOU INVOLVE US IN ONE OF YOUR PETTY SCHEMES!”

      “Petty is not the appropriate term for this situation, Sherlock.  The consequences of this meeting are of paramount importance to the initiative for which I was forced to… I will not see the dissolution of my work and the dishonoring of Gregory’s injury because you will not sit for a meal.”

      “Wait!  Is this about the poor children?  That’s what you were working on when you had to make _him_ you boyfriend and when Greg was hurt.  Are you… I guess I hadn’t really thought about it, but haven’t those little children been helped yet?”

Mycroft hated seeing worry and sorrow in Arthur’s eyes… they were two emotions that belonged nowhere near the kindhearted young man.

      “As I said from the beginning, the operation is, by necessity, of long duration.  This particular individual is a critical piece in the game and I cannot lose this opportunity for a conversation, nor give insult by refusing.   At this point he has concluded that you, Arthur, are attached to Sherlock in a somewhat decadent fashion and I see no reason to disabuse him of the idea.”

      “Come again?”

      “He is saying that you have been judged to be my lover and Mycroft sees no reason in setting the record straight.”

      “WHAT!  No!  I’m Skip’s fiancé, I can’t be your…. you know.  That’s silly.  And wrong.   Not that being your boyfriend wouldn’t be a brilliant thing, of course, because you’re not as growly as you like to pretend and you’re very smart and like interesting things, but Doctor Watson is your boyfriend!”

      “And that, apparently, is still to be considered the case.  Correct, Mycroft?”

      “These are not men of honor, Sherlock.”

      “I think I’m not going to enjoy my lunch.”

      “Arthur… for you, the meal should be a peaceful one.  Simply allow the conversation to flow without your input.  Bring along your new book, perhaps, to study while I manage the discussion.  If a question is directed to you specifically, look to myself or, if necessary, to Sherlock and wait for us to indicate that it is appropriate for you to answer.  If you do not receive a signal, remain silent and I shall intervene.”

      “That sounds very complicated.”

      “I assure you that, for your part, it will be the opposite.  Sherlock, I hope that I can count on your behavior to be productive.”

      “This is outrageous!  And without any sense of logic.  There is no reason for Arthur and me to attend this charade and certainly no reason to maintain the lie of a sexual relationship between us!”

      “If you both do not attend our lunch, it will be viewed as an insult or with suspicion, neither of which can I tolerate.  And while I have crafted a very thorough picture of our relationship as one of tenuous tolerance, though lacking in familial affection, thereby putting you rather low on the list of pawns to use against me, Arthur must now be protected.  An association with you places him in a somewhat secure position of being not within my immediate circle, yet surely in my orbit, which shall gain him at least the protection of a second thought before any action be taken against him.  I shall maintain that balance as best I can, but I cannot succeed if you are actively working against me.”

Mycroft could only hope that Sherlock would curtail his habitually-childish and contrary behavior and allow him to direct the course of this meeting.  At least he was confident that his brother would not consciously or intentionally do or say anything that would endanger Arthur’s safety.

      “It is only for a lunch, Sherlock, and I do not believe it will be a protracted one.  I can believably claim the needs of my work to prevent too long a lingering at table.  If necessary, I shall lay my knife at the edge of a glass and that will be your signal to text or phone my mobile as a fabricated situation requiring my attention.  Arthur?  Why are you raising your hand?”

      “I have a question.”

      “Then I am calling on you to speak.”

      “Yes, well… is this or could this be called a case?”

Regardless the thickness of the storm clouds, Arthur Shappey could poke through a ray of sunshine.  Mycroft swallowed his own smile, but felt a warmth seeing the brief flicker of Sherlock’s own proud grin.

      “It would not be inappropriate to use that term.”

      “Brilliant!  Now I feel much better.  I’ve already been on two cases and Mr. Sherlock and I did a smashing job, so I’ve got experience now.  And I know you’ve done this a lot, too, Mycroft, so I’m sure you’ll be a great part of our team… that is such a relief…”

Oh, the smug smirk on his brother’s face would require repayment at some point, but not today, with a case to work…

__________

It was a necessary skill of anyone moving in political circles to maintain hours of empty small talk, so the early pleasantries of their lunch were easily taken care of by Mycroft’s efforts, leaving Sherlock and Arthur to simply talk among themselves, with Sherlock handling the occasional question involving his investigations.  And it was an easy thing to field inquiries about Arthur with vague mentions of work in the travel industry.  Of help was that Arthur blushed quite hotly when Sherlock chose to wrap an arm around his waist, which, along with his allowing Sherlock to take charge of their part of the conversation, made him the perfect picture of the sweet and submissive partner who was not expected to take an active part in discussions, business or otherwise.  In response, their guest took to directing most questions straight to Sherlock, who chose to answer or not, depending on how _personal_ they could be considered.  With Arthur kept close to his side, despite the size of the table at which they were seated, the picture he painted was that of the possessive dominant, further protecting Arthur from attracting too much overt attention from the fourth man at the table.

      “When last we spoke, Mycroft, I believe you expressed an interest in meeting a few colleagues of mine; a bit of shoulder-rubbing with some of our up-and-coming entrepreneurs.  It seems they are hopeful to expand their range of political contacts and I think you would be a good fit for their needs.  Would you be agreeable to offering them an evening of entertainment?  Nothing complicated, simply drinks and hors d’oeuvres.  A chance for everyone to meet and take the measure of each other.  And your brother and his Arthur simply must attend, also.  I can already tell they will fit in with my friends quite nicely.”

Sherlock nearly did lose his calm then, but it was Arthur this time, who gave him a small squeeze on the knee to keep him focused, leaving Mycroft with a decision he had no desire to make.  There was no possibility of his refusal.  What was being offered him was far too important and if he hosted the event, he could also control the environment, which was of tremendous strategic benefit.

      “Of course, I would be delighted.  Contact me with suitable dates and I shall make the appropriate arrangements.  I am very much looking forward to this, I must say.  And I am certain Sherlock feels the same.”

      “Then it’s settled.  But that does remind me… now that you are, how shall I put this, unattached, I have someone in mind I think you might find quite… _pleasing_.”

And Mycroft could not fault Arthur’s very audible gasp, because he heard his own echoing against the walls of his skull.

      “Oh, how very kind, however, my attentions have, of late, been attracted by someone and I believe we are making very good progress towards something mutually beneficial.”

      “And are you referring to the doctor you hired away from one of London’s finest hospitals to tend to your… _friend_?  Yes, it is actually quite amazing how eager hospital staff are to share gossip.  Especially about someone as _notable_ as your American doctor.”

Sherlock’s quick thinking, much to what would be Martin’s great displeasure, stopped Arthur’s outburst directly in its tracks and Mycroft had to wonder if Arthur was actively comparing how it felt to kiss Sherlock, given his extreme similarity in appearance to Martin.  Fortunately, for both of the participants, only a brief contact was needed to keep Arthur silent.

      “You have been watching me.”

      “Only so far as it concerns my own interests.  And you _must_ tell me if I was correct.  I am normally never wrong about these things.”

If there was not a bottle of bleach at home for his tongue, Mycroft would have one delivered.

      “You do have a nose for entanglements, don’t you?  And I do have to admit that you have correctly identified my newest interest.  He very aware of my _leanings_ and find them compatible with his own, so I predict a very successful association.  His age, also, is a refreshing change of pace.  It is rare I find myself the younger half of a couple.”

      “Then I shall hold aside my prospect for another worthy recipient.  Your doctor will attend our little party, correct?  I have no doubt that everyone will be very eager to meet him.”

A statement for which Mycroft had no doubt.  The iceberg that took the Titanic was not so catastrophic as the mere thought of Samuel Harris and… blast!  This was nearly lethal in its repugnance!

      “I shall speak with him on the issue; however, I cannot believe he would refuse such a splendid opportunity.  Now, unfortunately, I must consider my lunch hour at a close.  Matters of state wait for no man.  Well, not forever, at least.  This has been an utter delight, William.  We simply must do this again.”

      “I quite agree.  Sherlock, Arthur… it has been a pleasure to meet you.  I look forward to seeing you again at Mycroft’s party.”

      “If we are able to attend.”

      ‘Of course, Sherlock… of course.  Now, if you will excuse me, I also have business to attend to.  Mycroft… I shall be in touch.”

Six eyes watched the man stroll away from the table and it was some time before anyone felt ready to break the silence.

      “Mycroft… did you just say you were Doctor Sam’s boyfriend?”

      “That would be the correct interpretation, yes.”

      “And you said Mr. Sherlock is mine?”

      “Again, you have grasped the situation fully.”

      “I think we’re going to be in a little trouble when we get home.”

      “In this you are in error.  We are going to be in a tremendous amount of trouble when we get home.”

      “You mean _you_ will.”

      “Yes, Sherlock… I mean _I_ will…”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sincere thank you to everyone for their continued support and encouragement. There is nothing more powerfully motivating and I remain extremely grateful...

      “HE WHAT!”

Sherlock was very lucky that John was in the room and was fast enough to grab Martin as he launched himself towards the detective, murder blazing hotly in his eyes.

      “Skip!  No, you don’t understand!”

      “He kissed you!  He.  Kissed. You!  I’m going to kill him!”

John was actually amazed that Martin was able to kick with both feet in the air at the same time while John was holding him tightly around the chest.  It was a use of leverage that a physicist would be proud of.

      “Martin, do control your ridiculous jealous hysteria.  I did nothing to impugn the honor of your fiancé.”

      “YOU KISSED HIM!”

Mycroft had to step in to add his effort to the cause because Martin was very near to breaking John’s grip.

      “But Skip, it wasn’t even a very good kiss.”

      “I WASN’T TRYING TO MAKE IT GOOD!”

      “YOU _WANTED_ TO KISS HIM BADLY?  HE WASN’T EVEN GOOD ENOUGH FOR A PROPER KISS!”

      “JOHN!  Do something!  He’s insane!”

      “Hands are sort of full, Sherlock!”

Which was entirely true and Martin seemed to have developed the ability to contort his body much like an eel in his attempts to break free.

      “This is your fault, Mycroft!  Control your cousin!”

      “My hands are also occupied, dear brother.  And _I_ did not take the action of romancing said cousin’s intended.”

      “I had no choice!  What else would have stopped Arthur from… Arthuring?   And it maintained the deception YOU set in motion.”

      “Do you think I would intentionally craft this charade?”

      “I think you’re too stupid to… ACK!”

John and Martin quickly pulled the escaped Martin off of Sherlock’s prone body, but not before Martin landed several substantial punches that left Sherlock winded and with what were going to be admirable bruises in an hour or so.  The ginger captain was held tightly between Mycroft and John, who dragged him over to the sofa, where Arthur launched himself onto the smaller man and sat heavily on him until Martin stopped struggling against his human bonds.

      “You _are_ going to be a bit less shouty, aren’t you, Skip?  And you can’t hit Mr. Sherlock anymore.  There’s no reason for you to do that for… well, for _any_ reason… but especially not for this.  We were on a case!  And when you’re on a case you have to do things and act certain ways… you should have seen me when we were looking for you.  I had to be a very stern-looking bodyguard and I did that brilliantly and then I had to actually tackle that man who stole Helen!  There’s nothing to be angry about, so take a breath and think about relaxing things.  Now, if it’d been a very nice kiss then…”

      “STOP SAYING THAT I’M A POOR KISSER!”

      “Oh!  I don’t mean it that way, Mr. Sherlock… I just mean it wasn’t like the way Skip does it, which is especially nice.  And it was just a small one anyway, so I didn’t really have much to go on to judge, now did I?”

      “It’s all right, Sherlock.  I’ll still let you kiss me, even though I’m not young and handsome like Arthur.  In fact, you can have one now for the tragedy of getting pummeled again by Martin.”

      “You may save your kisses for less sarcastic moments, John.  I am sure they will be quite sour-tinged from your acidic tongue.”

      “Then I’ll have to suck on something to make my tongue sweet again.”

The victories John savored the most were the ones from rendering his partner speechless.

      “Doctor Watson, please remember that you are not alone in your bordello room.”

      “We’re all men here, Mycroft.  Manly men, at that.  So manly we go around snapping our fingers and making whoever we want our goddam lover whenever we’d like.  What in the hell possessed you to… any of it!”

      “My options were limited, John, and I did not have the luxury of only my welfare to consider.”

      “Limited?  All you had to say was the truth!”

      “The truth does not always set one free, doctor.  Unfortunately, it often enmeshes you further in your turmoil.  I am not unpracticed in these things, as you are most certainly aware, and I do not make decisions or take actions based on the whim of the winds.  Given the circumstances and my knowledge of the individual in question… my choices were entirely sound.”

      “HAH!  That sounded as convincing as when Sherlock says to drink something and not to worry about the funny taste.”

      “Your opinion, is not one from which I take a great deal of counsel on such matters.  After all, you have actually agreed to partner with my brother in the first place, making your reasoning ability supremely suspect.”

      “Maybe you _should_ listen to me once in awhile!  You probably wouldn’t have ended up in this mess if you had!  Now look at you, having to shake your arse for the one person on Earth who won’t be afraid to kick it for you!”

Mycroft wondered how John Watson would appreciate being placed as a juror every month for the next twenty years…

      “John!  I am not pleased that your attention is not focused on the fact that you have been supplanted in my affections by Arthur!”

      “Frankly, I’m happy for the break.  Anyway, Sherlock… from what I gather, you’ll have to make moon eyes for what… one cocktail party?  With your hatred of social pleasantries, you’ll have the whole lot offended and leaving you alone within an hour and can probably sneak out the back with no one noticing.  And it’s not like Mycroft won’t have the servers armed like assassins, so there’s no worries if anyone tries to make a move on your gentleman friend.  Just have fun on Mycroft’s tab and remember to take lots of pictures.” 

      “Martin!  Talk sense into John!”

      “You kissed my fiancé, you bastard!”

      “Skip, there’s no call for foul language.”

      “And you can get off of me, Arthur Shappey!”

      “Are you going to promise to behave?”

      “I only promise to give him the chance to run while I get a kitchen knife!”

      “Then I think I’ll be sitting here for awhile longer, thank you very much.  I’m not going to be the one to have to clean up Mycroft’s nice house after you’ve dirtied it up with Mr. Sherlock’s blood.”

      “Good job, Mycroft… welcome to the wonderful world of your creation.”

      “You are not so debilitated, John, that you could not perform valiantly in the service of the crown in a beautiful post such as… Canada?  Above the Arctic Circle, perhaps?  A doctor of your caliber would be highly prized.”

      “BRILLIANT!  You could see polar bears every day!  You could… you could see baby polar bears.  Oh my… you could see them and play with them and since you’re a doctor you could even take care of them if they were sick… can I go with you to Canada, Doctor Watson?  I’d love to learn to be a polar-bear doctor’s assistant to go with being a detective’s assistant.  And play with polar bears.”

      “Fine!  Just go off to Canada with John, why don’t you?  Kiss him, too, while you’re at it!”

      “Doctor Watson, I think Skip could use a little something to help him be not so loony.”

      “Cheating on me, now drugging me… make it cyanide and end my misery quickly…”

      “And horribly.  While you would make an interesting object of study and I would greatly appreciate it if you permitted me to film your final moments, I will also need to draw samples at regular intervals, so I apologize in advance for any additional discomfort I provide as you expire.”

      “Fuck you, Sherlock!”

      “Skip!  That is not captainy behavior at all!  And you can’t blame your _little problem_ this time, so you say you’re sorry!”

      “I’ll say it when I feel it and that’ll be never!”

      “Then I hope you like my bottom because it’s going to be on your stomach until you apologize.”

      “See the effects of your meddling!  You’ve torn asunder two relatively stable couples!  And… well, we have yet to broach this subject with Lestrade, have we.  Tell me, dear brother Mycroft… how do you feel _that_ discussion is going to go?”

Sherlock was going to hate Arctic Canada.  Especially the baby polar bears.

      “Gregory is an adult, not a mewling infant such as we are blessed to have in abundance in this room.  He will have no issue with this, especially with the full disclosure he will receive concerning the details.”

      “I doubt Lestrade will happily take the news that you are, once again, cuckolding him.  In years to come he may forgive your first indiscretion, but a second…”

      “Good heavens, Sherlock!  The artifice of this situation cannot be overstated!”

      “He’s just trying to wind you up, Mycroft.  Not that you don’t deserve it.”

      “Canada, John… I do hope you enjoy the flavor of maple.”

      “I love maple!  Maple candy is brilliant!  Did you know they get the syrup from trees?  I’m surprised Canada has any trees left since people must want to cut them down all the time to get to the syrup.  I wonder if that’s why birds like to perch in trees… to get a little syrupy drink?  No, that wouldn’t work because I don’t think all trees make syrup, though I could be mistaken.  I’ll have to get a book on trees and do a bit of reading.”

      “Well, read somewhere else but on me!  Let me up!”

      “No, I think you could use a little more time to rest, Skip.  And think about being polite and not off in the head.”

      “Arthur, you’re on my bladder and thinking about being polite won’t be your greatest concern if you don’t get off of me!”

      “Oh!  Yes, that would be something that could change my mind, but you have to promise to be nice and not chase Mr. Sherlock with a knife.”

      “I promise.  No knives will be involved.”

      “Ah hah!  You think I don’t know you’re trying to put one over one me, but I do!  _Nothing_ can be involved.  And no chasing.  Or leaping.  Or kicking.  Or hitting, biting, pinching, doing that thing where you twist two ways on someone’s arm and make it burn…”

      “Fine!  Sherlock’s lecherous body is safe.  For now.  But if he so much as lays a hand on you ever again, I’m cutting it off and shoving it up his…”

      “SKIP!  Now, just behave.  And I’m sure he’ll have to hug me or hold my hand or something when we go to Mycroft’s party, because we wouldn’t be very good detectives or spies if we didn’t make our disguise look as brilliant as we can.”

John was actually becoming worried since the distress in Martin’s eyes was real, and not simply an overreaction.  He would have to sit the young pilot down and have a quiet talk to help Martin work through his feelings, for as silly as this was, Martin’s reasons for worry were very real to him and needed to be taken seriously.

      “I think we can all agree that it can be kept to a minimum, however.  I mean, people don’t necessarily show a lot of affection at parties, especially when they don’t know a lot of the other guests, so I don’t believe Arthur and Sherlock will have a lot of touching to worry about.  Isn’t that right, Mycroft?”

      “John has a point, Martin.  This will be a relatively sedate affair and overly demonstrative behavior would be highly irregular.  I give you my personal assurance that there shall be no inappropriate contact between Sherlock and Arthur.  If I sense something amiss, I shall send them home immediately.  Does that satisfy you?”

Martin simply snarled and crossed his arms across his chest, but offered no further insults or violated his word to take Sherlock apart with his bare hands.

      “Excellent.  Now, if you will excuse me, I must have a word with Gregory.  John, I would appreciate you accompanying me.”   

      “I charge extra for bodyguard duty.”

      “I shall email the lyrics of “Oh, Canada” to you, doctor.  Kindly commit them to memory.”

__________

John was actually happy he’d followed Mycroft into Greg’s room, because it was an extra body to hold the Detective Inspector steady as he laughed so hard to nearly burst his stitches.

      “You named Yosemite Sam as you partner!  God, please tell me you’re going to s…screen the video footage of the party where we can all see it!  And I want him in here when you tell him.  I am _not_ going to miss that!”

      “I think that is ill-advised, my dear.  I would not want you unduly perturbed and he shall very certainly exhibit disruptive behavior when we engage in discussion on the issue.”

      “And that why I want to watch.  John… fight this battle for me.”

      “I think I actually have to agree with Mycroft this time.  Just wait until the explosions die down and then let Sam tell you the details.  It’ll still be colorful; you can count on that much.”

      “Oh, come on!  I’m not a baby!  Just let me have my fun.”                 

      “Gregory, while I am both humbled and relieved that you are not reacting poorly to the situation…”

      “Why would I react poorly?  This is the f…funniest thing I’ve heard in years!  And I can’t say it doesn’t feel like a bit of payback for the crap I’ve been through.  He is going to make you suffer a lot better than I ever could.”

Mycroft knew that was patently untrue because no one could destroy him as completely as the man lying in the bed, but enduring the American’s ludicrous behavior for more than a few minutes _could_ leave him permanently crippled.  And the crippling was about to begin because the man in question just burst through the door and Mycroft was startled to see what was a frightening mixture of panic and determination painting his features.

      “John!  What’s wrong?  What can I do?  They told me I had to get in here immediately…”

      “I get my wish!”

      “Gregory, do attempt to calm yourself.  What are you doing here, Doctor Harris?  It is not your scheduled time for duty.”

The men watched the concern fade from the doctor’s features and irritation rapidly take its place.

      “Well, John had asked me to come in early to help with a few things like getting that one’s smelly ass washed and have a general meeting of the minds, for which he’d have to _borrow_ one, on the current status of said smelly ass and the next steps to take to get the ass in motion.  _And_ I think he wants to duck out early again, leaving me holding the bag once again doing unpaid overtime.  What I care more about now, though, is why the fuck they sent me running in here like the invalid was having heart failure?”

      “Not me, mate.  But you might want to have some of those nitro pills handy for yourself.”

      “Doctor Harris, if you would be so kind as to accompany me to my study…”

      “Don’t go, Sam!  I’ve got to hear this.  John, really, if you ever loved me…”

      “Oh!  Now Doctor Watson is going to be boyfriends with Greg!  This is all messed up!  And with Doctor Sam and Mycroft…”

Two people were trying to hide behind Arthur as he peeked into the room, but the fact that they kept slapping at each other ruined their invisibility.

      “What about me and Mycroft, Arthur?”

      “You mean he didn’t tell you yet?  You’ve been in here at least… well several minutes and I thought that would be the very first thing you’d talk about.”

Sam turned to stare at Mycroft who refused to acknowledge that the skin on his face was starting to feel hot.

      “I take it there’s something we need to talk about?”

      “As I indicated previously…”

      “Arthur, you come with me.”

      “What!  No… I mean, I’ll be happy to go somewhere with you, Doctor Sam, but Mycroft’s the one you need to talk to and…”

      “And I want the real story without all of his ballet.  Let’s go.”

And Arthur found himself dragged away by a very irate-looking physician to the complete dismay of the rest of the household.

      “You have to admit, in a very strange way, he’ll probably get the story faster and with less clutter than if you sat there and spun him a tale.”

      “Thank you, John.  I heartily appreciate your input.”

      “And I still have to miss the fun!  I hate being in this stupid bed!”

      “It would go no differently if you were ambulatory, my dear.  We are all now sentenced to wait until Arthur has been fully mined for information.”

      “Martin, why don’t you come help me get some tea started.”

John nodded at his friend and both felt relief at having something to do during this particular hiatus.  And John knew this was as good a chance as any to have his talk with Martin.

      “How wonderful.  I’m left behind with my brother and Lestrade.  There is nothing about this day that could be termed positive.”

      “If it gladdens your heart, Sherlock, I am not content with today’s sequence of events either.”

      “I am!  This is a super way to spend my afternoon!”

      “Thank you, Gregory.  When I desire your opinion, I shall ask you put it in writing.”

      “And then flush it, right?”

      “Oh drat.  I am discovered.”

__________

      “Make mine strong, John.”

      “Strong as you like, but you might want to settle for an herbal blend.  Something to cool your nerves.”

      “Do we have to do this now?”

      “Good a time as any.  You were out of control, mate.  Completely lost it and I need to know how you’re doing and what was going on while you were trying to kill Sherlock.”

With a heavy thud, Martin sat down on kitchen chair and let out a large sigh.

      “I just… I just couldn’t believe it, John!  Everything was going to well and then…”

      “Sort of like when you were kids?”

      “Exactly like that.  We’d have a few good days… fun and interesting and then…”

      “It’d fall apart.”

      “Completely.  Arthur and I… I’ve never been happier!  I didn’t think I could _be_ this happy.  Or lucky.  Or worthy.”

      “All fun and interesting and _then_.   You know it didn’t mean anything, right?  Arthur could never, not ever, do anything to betray you.  I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone so crazily in love as he is and I don’t think he’s put together in a way that cheating’s even a possibility.”

      “I know!  I know… it’s just… I’m not sure how to say it.”

      “Sort of like a flashback.”

      “That’s not a bad way to put it.  It felt like getting hit with the past all at once and I guess I didn’t react very well to it.”

      “I’m not entirely sure you could have done things much different, actually.  Not lot of conscious thought involved in that situation.  At least Arthur handled it well.  You can, at least, be confident that if you do take a bad turn, he’ll hold his head and keep you in line.

      “He _is_ a wonder.  As bouncy and jolly as he is, I think he’s actually got a better grip on things than I do.  He does everything he can to make the best of every situation and I wish I had half his strength to just meet life head on.  I love him, John and… I can’t keep doing this sort of thing, can I?”

      “It’s not a choice, Martin.  You suffered a lot of trauma when you were young and you’re just starting to really process it all now that Sherlock’s back in your life.  Honestly, you’re doing a fantastic job and a slip or two here and there isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  Gives you a chance to think about what made you slip and that’s part of the processing.  Now, Sherlock won’t care if you apologize to him so if you don’t want to, don’t feel you have to, but take some time tonight and talk to Arthur.  From what Sherlock’s told me, Arthur was devastated when he thought you’d turned against him and, although I think he realizes what today was all about, it would be good for him to hear from you that you never really lost faith.”

Martin remembered very well how shattered Arthur had been and he had no place on this Earth if he ever let his fiancé feel that way again.

      “Yeah, I’ll do that.  Though I’m still not happy about all of this.  Arthur has _no_ place in Mycroft’s world of insanity.”

      “I’m not going to disagree with you because I think you’re absolutely right.  Mycroft tried to make things as safe as he could for Arthur and hats off to him for that, but this is still something that makes me uneasy, too.  Sherlock will do everything he can to keep an eye on Arthur and he’s got a very nasty streak when someone tries to hurt someone he cares about, but… no, I don’t like it either.”

      “What about Greg?  Do you think he’s really going to be ok with this?”

      “Greg?  He’s going to love every minute of it…”

__________

It was a lucky thing that the room Mycroft had renovated was substantial in size since every person in the house had decided to make that their home until Arthur’s debriefing was completed, which to no one’s surprise, took quite a long time.  When the steward finally returned to the room, looking dazed but happy, there was again no surprise when Sam simply glared at Mycroft and cocked a finger to beckon him to follow.  Which Mycroft refused to do.

      “I am not a child that you can order about, doctor.   Do show the proper respect in my home.”

      “I’ll show you _child_ , you idiotic brat.”

It had been nearly forty years since anyone had grabbed Mycroft Holmes by his ear and marched him away like a criminal, but it was, and always had been, incredibly effective.  His ears were _very_ sensitive…  And the marching didn’t stop until Mycroft was in his study and his ear was returned to him, never to be the same.

      “How dare you!”

      “Do _not_ take that tone with me, Mycroft Holmes.  How dare _you_ drag me into your ridiculous farce!”

      “It was not by choice, I assure you.  There was no other option…”

      “BULLSHIT! You mean you were either too slow or too dumb to think of one.”

      “That is nonsensical!”

      “I am so sorry, but my companion is abroad at the moment.”

      “That is…”

      “I do apologize, but my companion is engaged in a delicate family matter at the moment.”

      “What you are…”

      “I am honored by your offer, however, after my last relationship, I find myself in need of a small holiday from romance.”

      “You will cease with this mockery!”

      “You accept his human gift and then confess your terrible secret of impotence.  John could have made that happen temporarily with no problem.  Then pay the present off to keep quiet.”

      “It is easy for you sit there, having had time to process the information…”

      “And here I thought you were fastest human processor in the world!”

      “WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE HAD ME DO?  THIS OPERATION IS OF CRITICAL IMPORTANCE!”

      “Any of the above would have gotten you out of your mess and kept your spy shenanigans from falling apart.  AND kept me from begin hauled into your three-ring circus!  You screwed the pooch big time Mycroft, my friend, and I have no intention of reaching in and hauling your dick back out!”

      “You have absolutely no idea what is at stake if you do not cooperate!”

      “I have every idea!  Arthur tells a good story if you steer him right and I _know_ what you’re been up to.  Don’t execute him for spilling state secrets, but I’d say I have a pretty good picture of why my patient is sporting two holes in addition to the other friendlier ones.  You fucked this thing up from the get go and I have to say I’m pretty damned surprised at how crappy the supposed Ruler of London is at his job.”

      “Then you know what is at stake if this operation fails.”

      “Yeah, I do… but that’s not my problem, is it?  My job is to tend my patient, not play pattycake with his dimwitted boy toy.”

      “What do you want?”

      “About a gallon of bourbon!”

      “I mean to participate in this initiative.  Name your price.”

Mycroft bit the inside of his cheek seeing the man rock back as if he’d been slapped.  That was a very costly misstep.

      “You fucking asshole.  Do you think you can buy me?  Well, let me assure you that I’ve walked away from more than you could ever offer, lost more than you can ever dream… you’ve got nothing I want, Mr. Holmes.  Now, if you will excuse me, I have a patient to look after.”

Sam turned towards the door and found his arm grabbed before he could make two steps towards the door.

      “An apology.  I can give you that, at least.  I was wrong… and I knew the wrongness of that approach the moment I heard myself say the words.  As infuriating, vulgar, ridiculous and boorish as you are, I cannot deny that you have given me no cause to doubt your integrity.  In your insufferable way, you have shown Gregory respect and provided companionship that he values.  We have not discussed remuneration, yet you have kept you word to provide aid, going even above the calls of your appointed schedule to be of service.  It was wrong of me to assume you would demonstrate the requisite lack of character to accept my offer of bribery and I _am_ sorry, Doctor Harris, for giving you insult.  You have my most sincere apology for my words.”

The two men stared at each other and Mycroft again saw something flicker in the doctor’s eyes, gone before he could easily decide exactly what it was.

      “Sam.  I’ll accept your apology, but you have to drop the Doctor Harris.”

      “I abhor diminutives.  It is possible that I can agree to Samuel.”

      “Christ, that makes me sound like I should have a beard and wear a cardigan.  But no one ever said Sam Harris wasn’t a man of compromise.  It’s a deal.”

      “Excellent, now we may return to our primary debate.”

      “I’ll do it.”

This time it was Mycroft’s turn to be rocked back on his heels.

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “If you can bend you neck far enough to say sorry to me, then I guess I can bend my neck far enough to help you out on your little caper.  But it’s one time, you got that?  One time to haul your ass out of the fire and then my spy days are over and done with.”

      “That is most acceptable.  Thank you Doctor… Samuel.”

      “Ok, now you can get me my bourbon and John and I can get back to doing what we’re apparently not being paid to do.”

      “I shall not allow you to become inebriated while you are charged with caring for Gregory.”

      “That’s what I love about you, Mycroft… consistency.”

__________

The elder Holmes did not really want to know why everyone was shouting at the piece of notebook paper Martin was holding up because the drawing of the ocean and the ten, no eleven little stick figures he had drawn were not necessarily artistic, but at least recognizable.  However, he decided that life’s little mysteries were sometimes best left that way for everyone’s well-being.

      “Doctor Sam!  Mycroft!  You’re not… well, you don’t look angry or like you’ve been fighting like Skip and Mr. Sherlock so I’m thinking you had a nice chat and are still friends.  Is that right?”

There was so much hope and excitement in Arthur’s voice that Mycroft didn’t have the heart to state that his assessment of the use of the term ‘friends’ to describe himself and the scruffy American.

      “We have at least reached an accord.  Doc… Samuel will accompany us to our gathering as my escort.”

      “Hurray!  That means it will be me and Mr. Sherlock and you and Doctor Sam!  But Doctor Sam, I really don’t think you should kiss Mycroft like Mr. Sherlock did to me, no matter what silly thing Mycroft might be about ready to say.  It’s not a very good idea, what with the _situation_ we talked about.”

      “What is it with you all and the free love?  Sherlock’s kissing you, I had to fend off John kissing me… come here, Martin, let’s show them how it’s really done.”

Sam grinned at the horrified Martin Crieff and licked his lips for good measure.

      “WAIT!”

Sherlock’s roar shook the walls and Mycroft waited for the pounce to occur.

      “What do you mean you had to fend off John’s advances?”

All eyes rested on the only person in the room trying _not_ to look at anyone else, until Sam finally burst out laughing.

      “Oh calm down tall, dark and surly.  We were falling down drunk and John tried to take a little taste.  I mean… who wouldn’t want to when _this_ is available?”

      “John…”

      “He’s right, Sherlock, just calm down.  We really were falling down drunk.  Had to have a patching-up session the next morning after we woke up passed on Sam’s floor.  And a cleaning up session.  The floor was pretty bad and smelled like death.  But then so did we…”

Sherlock glared at his partner, who was avoiding making any substantial eye contact, but realized he honestly didn’t want to continue the discussion with so many eager ears waiting to hear the details they knew he’d pry out of the army doctor.  The dissection would have to wait until later.

      “Very well.  When you have finished your duties here, we shall return to the flat and continue our conversation.”

      “This isn’t fair!  Why is everyone getting to enjoy all the excitement and I’m stuck in this bed missing out on everything?”

      “That’s the price you pay for completely ignoring proper horror movie common sense.  Now, let John and I get you washed and diapered and then Skinny can come and read you a story with your bottle.”

      “Lager?  Please, Sam… I gotta have something to m…make up for not having any fun.”

      “Fine, but the limit line holds.  Arthur told me there’s a movie he wants to watch so we can add that your story time if you’re a good boy.”

      “Brilliant!  I’ll make some popcorn and maybe some bring some cheese.  Mycroft buys very nice cheese.  And bread.  And jam.  Oh, I’ll just make a big snacks platter and bowls of popcorn and it’ll be a grand film night!”

      “That sounds great, Arthur.  Why don’t you take the rest of these guys to help you while John and I work?  This’ll go faster if we don’t have a bunch of looky-loos hanging over our shoulders asking questions the whole time.”

      “Good, because I could use the help carrying out the nibbles when I’m done with them.  Ok, everybody… let’s go so Greg can have his bath.”

Lestrade watched the parade of disgruntled faces leave the room, led by a single jubilant one, and sighed a little with relief.  For all of his posturing, today was becoming a little more than he could handle and a small break was a welcome thing.

      “You just had to open your mouth to Sherlock, didn’t you?”

      “John… it’d come out at some point and it might as well happen sooner than later.  And besides, it was about as stupid as what happened between Arthur and Sherlock.  Stupider, in fact, since you didn’t actually do the deed.  It you want me to sign an affidavit stating my man-kiss virginity is still intact, just hand me the pen.”

      “Don’t worry, John.  You can kiss _me_ if you want.  Let me roll over so you can reach my sweet and muscular…”

      “Don’t carry that thought one step further or what’ll meet up with your arse will be a needle the size they use on horses.”

      “See, Sam?  No fun at all.”

      “Yeah, being shot sucks.”

      “Tell me about it.”

__________

John and Sherlock left Mycroft’s home before the commencement of the great film festival, despite John’s very vocal efforts to have them remain since the _last_ thing he wanted to do at the moment was be the subject of one of Sherlock’s investigations.  At least the detective had the decency to wait until they were in their flat before beginning the interrogation.

      “I told you we would continue this conversation, John.  I choose to do so now.”

      “Of course you do.  And do I have any say in the matter?”

      “Unquestionably, but whether or not I choose to listen to your _say_ is entirely at my discretion.”

      “Yeah, no surprise there.  Ok… what do you want to know?”

John sat, then leaned back on the sofa and looked up at his partner who towered over him for a moment until he, too, took a seat.

      “Don’t be disingenuous, John.  You know what I want to know.”

      “If I had an affair with Sam while you were… gone.”

      “Precisely.”

      “That’s easy then.  The answer is no.”

Sherlock took in every nuance of John’s features and voice and found not a trace of a lie anywhere, but there was something that was being left unsaid and that could not be ignored.

      “Then why did you try and kiss him?”

      “Try is the operative word!  We were pissed to the point of coma and he reminded me that he was straight, I was drunk and one of those would still be true in the morning.  End of story.”

      “But _why_ did you try?  Were you… are you attracted to him?”

      “No!  God no…”

There was that whiff of omission again.

      “John, please do me the courtesy of answering honestly.”

John had hoped not to open this door, but lecturing to Martin about processing his trauma would be hypocritical if he left his own to fester.

      “I _am_ being honest.  It was like this… we went out for a few, which turned into many and tried to walk it off.  Wound up going down quite a few of the streets you and I… I had a lot of memories of those streets.  Finally sat down for a bit in front of some shop and… I don’t know.  I looked up and maybe it was the light or the memories or the alcohol, probably all three, but for a split second… he looked like you.  Not exactly, but I could see little traces of you in his face and I sort of fell into that for a moment, I guess.  I missed you _so_ much and I could never tell you what I felt or know what you tasted like or how your body felt against mine.  Stupid, I know… you’re probably getting nauseous just hearing all that sentimental crap and it’s why I never brought it up.  That’s all there was to it, Sherlock.  I just wanted, even for a second, to _be_ with you, however I could.”

John swallowed the lump that was making it hard to speak and hoped that his partner wasn’t disappointed in what a weak and needy fool he was.  Sam had understood, when they’d talked about it the next day, but Sherlock… it _was_ a betrayal in one sense.  John had to admit that he’d been willing to settle for a substitute because the real thing was forever out of his reach.  Or so he’d thought.

      “You _can_ be with me now, John.  Does that, in any way, reduce your pain?”

John cocked an eye at the man next to him and saw nothing but curiosity on his face.

      “It does.  There’s still a lot of old ache that’s going to linger, but it doesn’t burn like it used to.  Burned like a block of ice set in my chest for _so_ long…”

Nothing felt as good as Sherlock’s arms wrapped around him and John leaned into the embrace to enjoy the warmth, the scent and the feel of the man he loved so much it created its own beautiful pain.

      “Then, shall we try to promote a small Spring thaw?”

For someone so devoted to cold logic, Sherlock had the highest-quality teasing voice John had ever heard.

      “And how do you propose we do that?”

      “I am not entirely certain.  I will give the matter some thought as we shower.”

      “We?”

      “It is efficient.  And cleanliness can only be a benefit for the activities to follow.”

      “To which you are giving thought.”

      “Deep and penetrating thought.”

      “Oh you bastard… mind keeping me informed as you think?”

      “I believe I can clearly describe my thought processes.”

      “You _are_ good that way.”

      “And in many others, as I shall now begin to remind you.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the patience and kindness I've received for this story, I am truly very grateful...

      “Just a little longer.”

This was another reason John did _not_ like to have friends as patients.  It was brutal to watch the Detective Inspector suffer and his recovery was going to be marked by constant pain.  And this was not even remotely the worst of it.  They had been drawing down the pain medication over the last few days and, also, trying to move Lestrade around a little more.  Now, that combination was one he was clearly feeling and not in a good way.  But, it was keeping his mind off of the goings-on in preparation for Mycroft’s ridiculous cocktail party tonight.  The past few days had been relatively quiet, but the increased energy in the house today as everyone anticipated the night’s events might not be the kind of energy his patient needed.

      “I’m ok.”

      “You won’t be when your teeth break from gritting them that tightly.”

      “Shut up, you g…git.  I’m just aggressively smiling.”

      “How bad is it?”

Lestrade let out a shallow breath and tried to dredge up a real grin for his friend, knowing he wasn’t doing the best job of it.

      “W…won’t kill me.”

      “No, but it’s ok to be honest about the pain.  In fact, I’m going to need you to.  Everyone heals at a different pace and it’s going to be important that we move you along at the right speed for your body.  That means you have to talk to us and let us know how bad things are; the last we need to do is cause you more damage.”

      “Fine… it’s not p…pleasant.  Sitting up like this hurts my skin and my insides and it’s worse when I breathe.  I don’t want to inhale so the pain’s easier to take and then I wind up f…feeling like I’m suffocating because I’m not breathing.”

      “All of that’s normal, so it’s good, for as much as you being in pain can be called good.  But, you need to try and breathe as deeply as you can.  If you get pneumonia, you’re really going to be a wretched person, so try, as best you can to breathe normally.”

John was also happy that he’d banished everyone from the room for the time being, because if he was hurting seeing the distress so clearly evident on Lestrade’s face for something so simple as sitting up and breathing, the others would have been ripped in two.  Mycroft would have to get used to it, since he was going to be a regular part of Lestrade’s therapy, but John had thought it best at this very early stage to give Greg some privacy to come to grips with starting to put his proverbial feet on the road back to health.  For the rest… it was better they keep some illusion for as long as possible that the healing process was going to be something less than completely miserable.

      “Can I have my air tube back?”

      “No, but if you’re a good boy and breathe, it’ll get you closer to getting that other tube out.  One step leads to another…”

      “I don’t want to know wh…what medical school you went to that put…puts breathing in the same chapter as peeing.”

      “You sit up and breathe, you get stronger.  You get stronger, you’ll heal faster.  You heal faster, you’re on your feet quicker.  You’re on your feet, you can take a piss like a big boy.  See, they have their curriculum down pat where I did my training.”

      “Gimme a bottle.”

      “You’re not ready for a bottle.  _I’m_ not ready to hold a bottle for you.  I’d like to keep _some_ dignity during this process.”

      “At the expen…expense of mine.”

      “That’s why I went to medical school.  Still alright?”

      “Stop asking.  Answer’s n…not changing.”

      “Ok.  Just a little longer.”

__________

      “The answer is an emphatic ‘no.’ “

      “I’m going, Mycroft.”

      “Martin, beyond the fact that you have no reason to be there, your temper and comportment concerning Arthur make it highly likely that you would compromise my efforts at some point and that is not something I can allow.”

      “Are you saying I can’t control myself?”

      “That has already been proven…”

Mycroft, in truth, was quite sympathetic to his cousin’s feelings on this issue and did not begrudge him his uncertainty and concern.  However, a worried Martin was an unpredictable Martin and that something he could not have at this gathering.  There were already too many unpredictable factors in play as it was.

      “…however, I do not mean that unkindly.  It is proper for you to have concerns, grave ones, over this situation and I share them.  Do not feel for a moment you are alone in wishing this could be handled differently, but I must be able to control all elements of the environment that I possibly can and, at this moment, I cannot be sure if you can be counted as someone who could remain in control should something occur.  Sherlock will likely, for instance have to demonstrate some measure of affection towards Arthur, be it an arm around his shoulder or some other simple and innocent gesture.  Having you launch yourself onto my brother and start a brawl cannot be considered supportive of this objective.”

Martin glared a very Holmesian glare at his cousin, but couldn’t actually find fault in Mycroft’s argument.  It was _wrong_ , though.  He should be there to protect Arthur!  Arthur was _his_ fiancé and he was being sent into a pack of jackals with nothing but Sherlock in arm’s reach for security.

      “You worry about his safety.”

      “Of course I do!  What do you expect?”

      “Exactly that, naturally.  But, I also expect that you would remember that I, too, care about Arthur’s welfare.  Do you truly think I would not take adequate precautions?”

      “Honestly, Mycroft… I don’t know what to think anymore.  About anything.”

A feeling the elder Holmes brother fully understood, though he very much wish he didn’t.

      “I have situated my little event at restaurant chosen specifically for its ability to see any guest at any time.  There are no areas that could be considered invisible to surveillance.  And the surveillance will be more than thorough, I assure you.  Further, the servers will be both armed and highly-skilled at using their weapons of choice.  And all of this for what will, I guarantee you, be a simple and uneventful cocktail party.  Arthur’s person will not be threatened beyond some, perhaps, inappropriate offers and suggestions that Sherlock will fend off easily.   Provided, of course, he understands them.  I shall have John provide him a lesson in such matters before we depart.”

      “You really think there’s no reason to worry?”

      “About Arthur’s health?  No reason at all.  The worries are truly mine to bear and they do not involve personal safety.  Every precaution has been taken, Martin.  I give you my word.”

      “Your real one or the one you give with your mental fingers crossed behind your back?”

Now and then Martin’s Holmes blood did surge forth, much to Mycroft’s pride and amusement.

      “The former, in this case.”

      “So, I have to stay here with John and Greg.”

      “You may do what you like during the time, however, I would feel more comfortable if you were here with John to keep a watchful eye on Gregory’s health.  Though he currently seems very amused by the idea of my plight, his mood could change once the operation has begun and it would be good for him to have support.”

      “You’re paying for take-away.”

      “I shall leave you my card.”

And rejoice that Martin was both being fed _and_ insisting that his cousin pay.

      “Good.  And… if it’s possible, try and see that Arthur has a good time.  Those kinds of parties… they’re not the type I’ll ever be able to take him to and it’d be nice if he could at least enjoy this one.”

And, now, feel the sting of Martin’s insecurity.   Truly, he was a silly boy, at times.

      “You should, in actuality, consider yourself blessed that you are not called to endure these functions, since these gatherings are not, as a rule, what one might call enjoyable because that is not their true function.  But, I will do my best to see that Arthur has a contented evening.  Sherlock should be able to steer him away from any overly boorish guests, the exception being my own escort, and allow him to socialize with more agreeable attendees.  Not everyone shall have nefarious purposes, if that is a concern of yours.  Many are unknowing participants in something whose ugliness might actually distress them if they knew the particulars, something I hope to never have to fully disclose.  Now, why don’t you check on your fiancé’s progress with making himself ready?  I do not quite understand his insistence he begin now, but I applaud his commitment to my little project.”

      “Arthur has been worrying about getting dressed for days.  And combing his hair.  And we had to stop yesterday and get him new toothpaste and deodorant since he didn’t think his normal ones were ‘disguise-y’ enough.”

      “You do realize that it will be a responsibility of your life to ensure that Arthur is able to continue to have his little adventures, correct?  On a more minor scale, of course, but I am certain Sherlock will be willing to engage in a less-hazardous investigation, on occasion, that would require Arthur’s diligent assistance.”

      “He does enjoy his detective’s-assistant job, doesn’t he?  And, no, I wouldn’t tell him he couldn’t do it anymore, at least as long as Sherlock doesn’t have him chasing a murderer through London.”

      “I think lost dogs and the occasional sweets thief will be the extent of Arthur’s responsibilities.”

      “Maybe some littering, too.  Arthur gets very upset over littering.  And graffiti.”

      “As well he should.  I shall inform Gregory to set aside heinous incidents of public defacement for Arthur to investigate when next you are in London.”

      “He’d be in heaven.”

      “And we would all be glad for it.”

      “Yes, yes we would…”

__________

      “Arthur?  Arthur.  Arthur.  Arthur.  Arthur.”

      “What?  Oh!  Oh… Sorry, Skip.  I was just thinking about shoes.”

      “Shoes?”

      “Do you think Mycroft could put a camera or something in my shoes like they have in the spy films?”

A camera, a microphone, a laser gun and a Toblerone stored in a refrigerated compartment, probably.

      “Why do want a shoe camera?”

      “For the case!  If I had a camera in my shoe I could take pictures of things just by wiggling my toes.  Wouldn’t that be brilliant?”

      “It would be an amazing thing, love, but Mycroft has the entire restaurant wired with surveillance.  You can get all the pictures you want from him.”

      “Oh… oh.”

      “You sound disappointed.”

      “Well, I want to do something to help, but I don’t know exactly what I can do!”

      “All you have to do is be there, Arthur.  Mycroft’s going to do all the work and you and Sherlock just have to stand around having a drink and chatting with people.”

      “But how does that help?  How can I do something helpful just by chatting and having a nice time?”

      “Well, in your chatting, you might hear something important.  Sherlock will be able to tell if it’s vital and pass it on to Mycroft.  And you’re good at getting people to talk, aren’t you?”

      “I am!  I can get people to talk about lots of things, but I don’t think Mycroft wants me to talk about the poor little kids he’s trying to rescue.”

      “No, but you can talk about other topics and maybe they’ll let something slip.  Don’t worry, Sherlock will know.  He’s the head detective, right?  Part of his job to pick up on those little things.”

      “That’s very true.  Ok, I can get people to talk and Mr. Sherlock can see if what they say is important.  What else?”

      “That you can do?  Well, I think you’re also there to show support for Mycroft.  Let people know he’s got people in his corner.  That he’s an important man, and all that.”

      “Well, of course he is!  He’s in charge of London!”

      “But I don’t think they know that.  I think he’s wearing his ‘minor government official’ hat for this little escapade.  A rich one, but still not with the crown on his head.  This’ll make him seem… consequential.  Famous detective brother and champion conversationalist on his team… that’ll have to be good for his reputation.  And you’ll be a decoy, I expect.  Take some of the attention off Mycroft so he can be even more sneaky than usual.  I think you’ve got some very important jobs to do, and I know you’ll be great at them, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

      “I have to admit that I am.  Those poor little kiddies have to be helped and I don’t want to do anything wrong and spoil whatever it is Mycroft’s trying to do.”

Martin wrapped his arms around his fiancé and began to guide him into a slow dance around their bedroom.

      “You won’t spoil anything, Arthur.  You are an amazing detective’s assistance and an amazing person, on top of it.  I can assure you that Mycroft would have found a way to get you out of this if he really thought, deep in his heart, that you weren’t up to the challenge.  And I’m sure if you’re truly worried you can go and talk to Sam and he’ll set your head on straight.”

      “That’s true!  Doctor Sam will be there!  He’ll definitely know if there’s anything else I can do to help or if I’m not doing a brilliant job at what I should be doing and he’ll tell me.  Doctor Sam’s good that way, he tells you things and you know they’re the truth because they make so much sense…”

Which reminded Martin to have a word with the doctor before they left and ask him to be another eye watching out for Arthur’s safety.  Mycroft, for all of his good intentions, was going to have his hands full with other things and Sherlock, for all his good intentions, was Sherlock.  If some juicy puzzle landed in his lap, his attention would also be less on Arthur than on his newfound source of fun.  But Sam should be able to be mindful of Arthur’s welfare, even if the others were distracted.

      “…and he doesn’t really care if you want to hear the truth, either, so that makes it even more true.  Oh Skip, you always know the right things to say when I’m a bit wuffly.”

Something Martin would never in the world dreamed he’d be able to do for _anyone_.

      “Always glad to help.  Now, you’ve got three hours until you have to leave.  How about you and I take a nice walk and relax.  If you get ready now, you’ll be upset with worry about wrinkling your suit or messing up your hair, so I think getting ready at the last minute will be the best plan.  What do you think?”

      “Brilliant!  I was wondering what I was going to do since I wouldn’t be able to sit down much or run around or cook or anything.  You’re so smart, Skip.  Come on, let’s go!  We’ll get some bread from Mycroft’s kitchen so if we find ducks, they’ll have something to eat.”

      “Put some butter on that bread and we can have something to eat, too.”

      “There you go being smart again.”

      “Don’t tell Sherlock.  He’ll be jealous.”

__________

Mycroft knew the dastardly American had another ten minutes before he was scheduled to arrive, but didn’t the man have the sense to be present early for inspection!  Already, he’d had to suffer the indignity of having the suit he’d chosen for the blackguard to wear returned to the tailor with an image of a phallus making a rude gesture drawn on the garment bag in black pen.  The insufferable doctor would probably make his appearance (a) late and (b) wearing a ghastly combination of a cowboy hat, tropical shirt and snow boots.  The likelihood that he had properly shaved and groomed himself was also staggeringly low.  How could he correct the idiot’s attempts at annoyance with only minutes to spare!

The sound of the door chime broke through Mycroft’s irritation and Arthur’s ‘Oh Wow!’ could not easily be interpreted as a good or bad thing.

      “Mycroft!  Doctor Sam’s here!  Doesn’t he look brilliant?”

The elder Holmes steadied himself for the impending blinding of his eyes and nearly choked as he watched the doctor walk into the sitting room.

      “You two are going to look wonderful together!  I mean, not as good as you and Greg, because you and Greg love each other and when you love someone you look especially good with them, like me and Skip, but… oh my… I have to get my camera.”

Arthur raced out of the room and Mycroft was left staring at the man who was staring back at him with a ‘what?’ look on his face.  His suit was impeccable.  So much so that Mycroft felt a very unseemly coil of envy squirm in his stomach.  There was no mistaking the tailor, however, he had no idea how the crass American even knew the man existed or had access to him for a fitting.

      “You think I can’t dress myself?  I was a prince of fashion before you even learned what a suit _was_ , Skinny.”

      “Should I ask how you came by your suit or would that involve a confession of either blackmail or murder?”

      “Ha fucking ha.  You’re a funny man, Myscruff.  Did you even shave today?  Or is that jealousy starting to sprout on your face?”

Fighting down the urge to feel his chin was taking 90% of Mycroft’s will.  The other 10% was trying to come up with an insult for something about the man’s presentation and failing.  There was nothing fair about the fact that the lewd and lowly doctor was standing in his sitting room looking like an older and taller version of a true spy-novel secret agent ready for a night in Monte Carlo.  Not that Mycroft had EVER harbored a childhood wish that he could affect that particular look…

      “Absurd as always.  This shall be a stressful enough evening without the effort to erase the memory of your ridiculous prattle from my mind, so do attempt to playact a responsible adult for the duration, if you please.”

      “Since that’s no fun, I’ll say no.  But, since I don’t want to have to do this again, I’ll say yes.  So figure somewhere in the middle.”

      “Perhaps I shall introduce you as mute and save myself the inevitable stroke.”

      “Good thing I know sign language.  And with a few choice extra gestures thrown in…”

Mycroft was readying his own choice gesture when Arthur burst back in, ready with his camera and an audience.

      “How come you never dress like that when _we_ go out?”

      “Because you love me no matter how I look, John.  This clod needs a pretty boy to get his engine running.”

      “Then it’s a good thing Greg is very pretty.  He’s got the nicest smile and his eyes are just lovely…”

      “Arthur, I already have to worry about Sherlock and you, please don’t add Greg to my list of competitors.”

      “Silly Skipper… you’ve got the nicest of everything!  Now, it’s picture time!  Mycroft, stand close to Doctor Sam.  No, I said close… Mycroft, I don’t think Doctor Sam is going to bite.”

      “I am supremely unconvinced of that fact.”

      “Skip, I think you’re whole family’s gone silly.”

      “Since Sherlock’s not here, I’ll cast my vote for yes.”

      “There we have it.  Doctor Watson agrees with me.  So stop being silly, Mycroft and let me get a good picture.”

      “Come here, darlin’.  It’ll be like I’m taking you to the prom.”

      “If anything, lout, it is _I_ who is escorting _you_ out for the evening.”

      “I’m older, taller, manlier, better looking and have a nicer suit.  I get to be the guy.”

      “I shall not be considered your… female!”

      “Then stop being a princess.  Get over here so Arthur can have his photo.”

John had to admire Mycroft’s snort, which put even Sherlock’s to shame, but the other Holmes sibling did move incrementally closer to the tall doctor so that Arthur could get a photograph.

      “Now one where you’re smiling.”

      “Don’t ask him to do that, Arthur.  It’ll probably give him hemorrhoids.  And it’ll look like I’m standing next to a psycho killer.  I’ll smile enough for both of us.”

      “Brilliant!  And you’ve got such a big smile.  Mycroft has a nice smile, too, when he’s not too pouty to use it.  Say cheese!”

Pouty.  A Holmes was never pouty.  They were grievously disappointed with the circumstances of life.

      “Yes!  Oh, and me!  I want to be in the picture!  Skip, take the camera.”

Arthur nestled himself in between the two older men and beamed widely, which finally drew a smile out of Mycroft’s stressed mood.  Three snaps later, Arthur was running to find retrieve Sherlock from the sitting room for his own round of photographs.

      “Sherlock, you actually don’t look like a snotty kid.  Congratulations.”

      “And you actually resemble a member of the human species, doctor.  Congratulations.”

      “I changed my socks and everything.  Now come over here for photos before Arthur explodes and then we can blow this popsicle stand.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes grandly, but permitted himself to be pulled forward for the necessary posed photographs.  After a few pictures and before his partner _did_ lose his good behavior, John called a halt and motioned Sam to follow him to Lestrade’s room for a quick laugh at his new uniform, ignoring the almost angry look Mycroft shot at him as they left.

      “You awake, Greg.  Got someone here to see you.  Prince Something or Other of Bastardland.”

Sam felt no shame at punching John in the back and walked over to the bed, shooting John a middle finger behind his back.

      “Jesus… you look posh.  How’d that happen?”

      “You’re having hallucinations.  I’m in a thong and flip flops.”

      “ _Now_ , I’m having hallucinations.  And something’s gone wrong with my heart.”

      “Try that again when you’re not hooked up to a monitor.  Stupid man, maybe my gorgeousness blew out your brainstem.”

      “Well, at least Mycroft can’t complain you’ll embarrass him.”

John caught a slightly off note in Greg’s voice and was happy to see Sam heard it, too.

      “Don’t worry.  I plan on giving him plenty to complain about.  Do you have any idea the hit my social life’s taken since I was kidnapped by you assholes?  Care to guess how few lovely ladies are out looking for pleasant company in the middle of the day?  Let me tell you – four.  And I’ve met them all and hate their kids.”

      “Oh boo hoo.  Fine, I’ll do a night this week so you can get laid.”

“Your generosity is, as usual, underwhelming, John Watson.  I’m starting a tab for Mycrap to pay when I’m done.  Every time I lose out on a good time, he’s got to pay up.  With my blazing popularity, I’ll have him bankrupted before I’m done.”

      “The only thing’s that blazing about you is when you do that ridiculous thing where you light your farts on fire.”

      “Keeps the hair on my ass to a minimum, so I view it as part of my beauty regimen.”

      “If I just go ahead and die over here, it won’t bother you two, right?”

      “Not really.  John’s good at putting on makeup, so he’ll keep you looking fresh for visitors.”

      “Oh good.  Carry on, then.”

      “Wish I could, invalid, but I have to get dragged out for a boring party, probably without bourbon since Mysmug’s a heathen, while the rest of you get to hang out, eat real food and drink real liquor.  Pay attention to the life draining out of me as we speak because this is going to be you pretty soon.  And may god have mercy on your soul.”

Sam made a very blasphemous sign of the cross and exited the room as downtroddenly as he could.

      “If he comes back alive, I’ll be shocked.  Actually if Mycroft comes back alive, I’ll be even more shocked.  I’m going to bet they kill each other somehow, probably rather spectacularly.”

      “You have to admit, though, John… they’ll make good-looking corpses, though.”

There was that off tone again.  And an off look in Lestrade’s eyes to go with it.

      “In _your_ opinion.  I can’t see the appeal, myself, but I guess you’re biased.”

      “How much… how much you think his suit cost?”

And now things started to make sense, prompting John to kick himself as hard as he could inside his skull.  No wonder Mycroft was giving him a death glare.

      “More than either of us can afford.  Greg… don’t let you mind go down that path.”

      “The pauper’s path, you mean.  There’s what Mycroft’s used to, John, having _that_ on his arm.”

      “So what?  What makes you think that’s not you?”

      “Oh, let me think.  I’m poor, my clothes are crap, I can’t pull off that _air_ like Mycroft can…”

      “First off, you’re not poor.  You make a good wage, even if you’re having to send some of it your ex’s way.  I _will_ admit your clothes are crap, but that’s because you really don’t care and buy the things closest to the door when you go into the shops.  And I know that because I’ve shopped with you before.  And no one besides the royals pull off an air like Mycroft Holmes.”

      “That bloody American can.”

      “Ok, you _are_ hallucinating.”

      “You ever really watch him?  Do it sometime.  Watch him move, when he’s not trying to be cheeky.  He’s got that smoothness, that confidence that one’s like Mycroft have.”

      “He’s a surgeon, Greg.  He’s got to move smoothly and confidently.”

      “No, it’s different.  Like he was born to it.  Like someone who never has to think about how to act or speak.”

      “Sam Harris cannot be your example of someone who knows how to speak or act properly.  He’s a self-professed social typhoon!”

      “A typhoon in an expensive suit.  With an education, to boot.”

      “Nice rhyme, but you’re being stupid.  Greg… are you really jealous of Sam?”

      “No… I’m jealous of the suit.”

      “You cut a good figure in your tux when Mycroft took you to the opera, didn’t you?”

      “As good a figure as I could in my rented gear.”

      “Did Mycroft complain?”

      “No, he took up with his new boy and left me in the dust.”

John made a mental note to never to ignore Mycroft’s glares in the future.

      “Honestly, mate, I think you’re _trying_ to make yourself angry because you’re caught a case of insecurity.”

      “Blame me?”

      “No.  Not really.  I catch a case of it now and then when I’m putting away the washing and get a look at Sherlock’s wardrobe.  Or he tosses me his card to pay for the shopping, without a care in the world.  But he _doesn’t_ care, Greg, and neither does Mycroft.  You know that.  And _he_ knows that you worry.  You should have seen him dither and rethink and take advice while we were getting all of this ready for you.  He’s trying very hard to make you comfortable and not hit any of your sore spots because he knows they _are_ sore spots for you.  So stop feeling like you’re the poor cousin come to Sunday dinner and remember that what he wants is _you_.  As you are.  Without any changes.  Mouthy, drooly, boozy, lecherous, you.  If he wanted someone else, he’d have them and, from what I’ve pieced together, he’s had plenty of chances and let them pass him by.  Until he found _you_.  Now, can I stop being a women’s magazine and go say goodbye to my own Holmes before he leaves?”

      “You don’t smile enough to be a women’s magazine.”

      “I’ll take that as a yes.  Be right back.”

John made sure not to look back at his friend as he exited the room as a show of confidence that the conversation was actually over.  Not that it was, not by a long shot.  It would rise again and again during Greg’s recovery as he grew more tired and frustrated and felt increasingly like an anchor around Mycroft’s neck.  But John was ready for that and would make sure Mycroft was, too… starting now if that still-simmering glare on Mycroft’s face was any indication.

      “That was unwise, John.”

      “Yeah, well… I know that now.  I admit I didn’t think ahead.”

      “Is Gregory well?”

      “I think so.  He just took a bad turn from being a regular man who won’t ever be able to afford a bespoke suit unless he swears off food for a few months.  He wants you to have the best and worries because, in his mind, you don’t with him.”

      “That is preposterous!”

      “It is.  But he’s emotionally raw right now, so expect flare-ups from his trouble spots.  He’s not mad at you or worried you’re going to fall into Sam’s loving arms… just leave it be for now.”

      “Are you certain I should not speak with him?”

      “Nah, he’d just be embarrassed.  There’ll be other times for that conversation and you’ll get the chance more than once before he’s ready to let things go.  It’s normal, you’re not going to lose him over it… but stop in when you get back and maybe spend a few minutes telling him about your night.  Even if you have to wake him up.  It’ll be good for Greg to think you couldn’t wait to share your stories with him.”

      “I will.  Thank you, John.”

      “No problem.  Now, I’m off to remind Sherlock not to destroy the free world.  Bring him back in one piece, ok?”

      “I make no promises where Sherlock is concerned.”

      “Yeah, fair enough.”

Mycroft watched John walk towards Sherlock and begin fussing with the suit that Sherlock had already disheveled from laying on the sofa waiting for their departure.  John was a true blessing for his brother, just as Arthur was for young Martin.  And Gregory was his.  One day, he hoped that his Detective Inspector would realize that very simple truth.

      “He will.”

Blast that scurvy-stricken American!

      “I have no idea to what you are referring.”

      “He loves you and knows you love him.  He’ll eventually get that your love isn’t conditional on him being a hoity-toity jerk like you are and that you actually need a regular joe in your life to give you a little perspective and grounding.  Remind you why you do what you do.  Just give him time and let him pay for things once in awhile.  You’re not doing a completely shitty job of trying to keep your wallet out of his face, so I think you’ll be ok.  Now, can we go?  I like to live life with a drink in my hand and there is currently no drink in my hand so I’m not sure I’m actually alive.”

Oaf.  However… no.  Just oaf.

      “Now that Sherlock is suitably unrumpled, we may depart.  Arthur?  Are you ready?”

      “I am!  I have all my photos and all my kisses from Skip, so I am ready to begin the case!”

      “Excellent.  John, Martin, do not hesitate to call if there is a problem.  A suitable representative will answer and respond to your issue immediately.”

      “We’ll be fine, Mycroft.  I’ve got your card and Arthur said I could order some exotic dancers to keep us entertained.”

      “I did not!  But I guess you could have some dancers dance for you if you wanted to.  In fact, that would actually be a lot of fun, to get to have your own show to watch.  Brilliant!  Will you take some pictures for me to see?”

Mycroft was very proud of Martin for actually making a jest about their situation and nodded his approval to his cousin.

      “Arthur, you dear deluded kid.  Come on and I’ll explain a thing or two to you about exotic dancers.”

Sam guided Arthur to the door and Arthur’s rising blush was visible across the room.

      “John, when I return I demand we leave immediately for home.”

      “I’m on duty all night tonight, Sherlock.”

      “Then I shall also remain and instead demand you pay more attention to me than you do Lestrade.”

His greatest love was six years old.  John was a lucky man.

      “It’s a deal.”

Sherlock stalked after Arthur and Sam, leaving Mycroft to… not want to leave.

      “It’s your party, Mycroft.  You can’t stand there and let the others go and play by themselves.”

      “I am aware of that, John.  I am simply… attempting to ensure I have forgotten no relevant detail in my planning.”

      “Hold on a minute.”

Both John and Mycroft watched Martin rummage around the room and finally return with one of Arthur’s wayward pens.

      “Unfasten your watch and give me your arm.”

It was not without a small amount of concern that Mycroft complied held out his arm for his cousin to take.  Martin took the pen wrote a small ‘GL’ on Mycroft’s wrist then motioned for Mycroft to replace his watch.

      “Arthur used to do that to me when I’d go home to my flat and he stayed at his house.  Of course, he wrote his ‘AS’ bigger and right in the middle of the back of my hand where I could see it every minute, but I figured you’d want something that only you knew about.  Just fiddle with it, or in this case, your watch when you think of Greg and you’ll feel better.  Surprisingly, it works.”

Mycroft stared at his cousin, but couldn’t deny that he already felt soothed by the small, albeit hidden, mark on his wrist.

      “Thank you, Martin.  I believe it _will_ be helpful.”

His cousin’s full, real smiles were not common and Mycroft was glad that he was going to begin this burdensome night with one fresh in his memory.

__________

      “Ok, this place isn’t a dump.  One point for you.”

      “Oh, do I win prize if I achieve a certain score, Samuel?”

      “I won’t pants you in front your guests.  And you can decide if I’m using ‘pants’ in my way or your Englandland way.”

      “Vulgarian.”

      “I wasn’t born on planet Vulgar.  Do you see points on these ears?”

      “Oh!  I think you mean Vulcan, Doctor Harris.  They’re the ones with the lovely ears.”

      “Good man.  That’s what I like about you, Arthur.  You know the important things.”

      “I admit that sometimes I do.  And it comes in handy, too, when Skip wants to watch a quiz program on the telly.  And this _is_ a very nice restaurant, Mycroft.  Not as nice as the one for Skip and my engagement announcement bracelet party, but it’s close.”

      “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that crown jewel on your wrist.  Your version of an engagement ring?”

      “Brilliant!  I knew people would know what it meant!  And I designed it, too.  Mycroft had someone make them for Skip and me and they did an amazing job, don’t you think?  Actually, Mycroft helped me with the idea, too, so these are extra special since we worked on them as sort of a shared project.”

Mycroft felt curious eyes on him and refused to give the doctor any form of acknowledgement.

      “Well, it’s fantastic and I can definitely see your personal vision in the design.  Remember to spin a yarn, though, if anyone asks about it.  They probably will, too, since it’s such an eye-catching piece.”

      “Arthur will say I gifted it to him.  That’s to be expected, isn’t it, since I am supposedly Arthur’s romantic partner?”

      “Oh!  That’s not bad, Mr. Sherlock, since you look like Skip and you’re related to Skip so I can pretend that you _are_ Skip for a moment and then it’s almost not a fib!”

      “I’m overjoyed at the thought of being confused with Martin.  Mycroft, do you have any strychnine in this establishment?”

      “Sherlock, do try and behave.  The guests will arrive soon and I would rather not have you already frothing at the mouth.”

      “Arthur, why don’t you take Sherlock to find something that’s not strychnine, like a nice glass of wine, and I’ll help Mycroft stand here and look pretty.”

      “Do you think they have sherry?  I really like a glass of sherry.  Or juice.  Juice would also be very nice.”

      “Simply ask at the bar, my boy.  They will provide for you whatever you need.  I believe there may even be pineapple juice available in the brand you favor.”

      “Brilliant!  Thank you, Mycroft!  Come on, Mr. Sherlock.  I’m ready for my juice.  Or some sherry.  Or both.  I wonder what would happen if you mixed sherry and pineapple juice?  I’m going to ask the person at the bar and if they don’t know then we’ll just have to find out!”

      “Arsenic?”

      “Move along, Baby Boneyard.  The big boys have things to talk about.”

Sherlock’s response was cut to a squawk as Arthur dragged him towards the bar and Mycroft had to admit that the doctor had one positive attribute – the ability to make his brother’s temper flare.

      “And what are we so-called big boys supposed to be discussing, Samuel?”

      “Your hands and my ass.  The two shall never meet.”

      “Did you even consider that a possibility?”

      “Just making sure the lines are drawn.  While I do enjoy a good groping and I’m not normally picky about the groper, you are not on my approved list.”

      “I can assure you that your buttocks shall remain unmolested.  As, I am quite sure, will mine.”

      “Oh hell no.  I’ll be all over those sweet buns.”

      “Are you insane?  I absolutely forbid it!”

      “Don’t care.  You’re getting the patented Sam Harris butt fondling and that’s that.”

      “I will dismember you!”

      “You’re _my_ boy toy tonight, so deal with it.”

      “I am no one’s boy toy but Gregory’s!”

      “Nice to hear it come out of you so naturally, but your proctor and gambles are still up for my grabs.”

      “I believe it is entirely possible that you are not wholly human.”

      “Superheroes generally aren’t, baby.”

      “Do not call me baby.”

      “Honey?”

      “There are over a dozen armed persons in the immediate vicinity and all act solely on my orders.”

      “Sweetcakes?”

      “I am joining Sherlock and Arthur for a drink.  Please do not feel compelled to join us.”

      “Love bunny?”

      “I believe I actually despise you.”

      “That’ll make the sex hotter.”

      “Dear god…”

__________

Parties were odious at the best of times and these, certainly, were not the best of times.  Sherlock surveyed the room and decided that, barring Arthur, everyone could be consumed by a plague and he would not be able to shed a single tear.  Boring people speaking of boring issues concerning other boring people… this was another example of why Mycroft was a failed example of humanity.  Nothing that he did could be described as anything but meddlesome or boring.  No… that wasn’t entirely true and Sherlock’s mind hastily shut the small door in his brain that had opened to a memory he was working very hard to keep closed off.  Forever, if possible.

      “This is rather interesting, isn’t it, Mr. Sherlock?”

      “If by interesting, you mean cripplingly dull, then yes, it is.”

      “Oh don’t be grumpy.  We’ve gotten to talk to some interesting people.  Well, you have.  They don’t seem to want to talk to me much, but it’s fun to listen anyway.”

      “They assume you are here to be seen and not heard, like a good little arm ornament.  And that is the way it will stay for your own safety.”

      “Oh, well I guess I understand that.  They _are_ supposed to be dangerous people, aren’t they?”

      “If by dangerous you mean they threaten to bore us to death, then yes.”

      “Silly Mr. Sherlock, I mean, Silly Sherlock.  It’s hard to remember to call you by your name.  I think we’ve gotten some good information, though.”

Sherlock’s ears pricked up at that statement, since all he’d gathered was that his time was being wasted by Mycroft’s nonsense.

      “Oh, and what is that?”

      “You know!  The man with the very sparkly watch over there is actually a little worried about being here.  He keeps looking at his sparkly watch and then frowning.  Oh!  And I don’t think the man with the thick arms is actually here.”

      “Is he a phantom?”

      “That didn’t quite come out like I meant.  I mean he’s _here_ here, but not here.”

      “That was not particularly clarifying.”

      “Well, everyone else is here and paying attention and talking to people and listening while they do, but he’s not.  He’s sort of _there_ and not _here_.”

      “You’re saying he is disinterested in the proceedings?”

      “Am I?”

      “I believe so.”

      “Then hurray for me!”

And now that Sherlock observed more carefully, he had to admit that Arthur’s deductions were not altogether unfounded.

      “Have you observed anything else?”

      “Well, I think the man with the yellow tie might be getting the sniffles and the lady with the very tight blue dress… well, she might very much like for Doctor Sam to be her boyfriend instead of the man who’s got his arm around her waist.”

Which had been causing Mycroft more than a little grief to Sherlock’s amusement.  Every time the woman shot what she felt was a seductive look in the doctor’s direction, the American slid even closer to Mycroft and did something to make him squirm.  The aftermath of the lick to his brother’s ear was especially entertaining.  If Mycroft’s fake grin were bullets, Samuel Harris would look like he’d faced a firing squad.

      “Very good, Arthur.  Your abilities have not atrophied in the time away from my instruction.”

      “Brilliant!  I want to be able to be your assistant whenever you need me, so I’ve been trying to keep my observing skills top notch.”

Sherlock rarely felt pride in another person, but a very few were the exception.

      “Should we tell Mycroft about what we’ve learned?”

      “It might be wise.  At the very least it will allow me to more closely witness his humiliation at the hands of Doctor Harris.”

      “Are you being silly again?”

      “I am always silly.  People, however, tend to confuse it with genius.”

      “You can’t fool me, you know.  I am an expert at silliness.”

      “Something I will remember in the future.”

      “I’ll remind you if you don’t.”

__________

      “Oh, you mean the bodyguard?  That guy’s itching for something to start so he can finish it.  Punk.  Wouldn’t last five minutes if I got my hands on him.”

Mycroft stared both at the idiotic doctor and the Sherlock/Arthur combination and wondered if he wished hard enough a meteor would strike him and let him avoid his impending headache.  While he did have to grudgingly admit that the doctor’s normal patois had been tempered and he was both sounding and behaving to their guests as the respected medical practitioner his documentation portrayed, the man was still a tree-sized thorn in his side.

      “May I ask to whom you are referring?”

      “Oh!  That man that I’m trying to point to, but not point to at the same time so he doesn’t know I’m pointing to him.”

      “Oh, that one.”

Arthur’s body contortions did at least indicate the general direction in which to look and Mycroft had to agree that he had previously made note of the man and his slightly stiff demeanor.

      “And why, Samuel, would you assign him a title of bodyguard?”

      “Well, snugglebutt, he’s sized up every person in the room already.  And look at his outfit… nice, but roomy in case he’s got to do some fast moving.  Built, too.  Brought along because he can take care of things without a weapon.  Still a punk, though.  Never fight a doctor, Arthur.  There’s a piece of advice you can count on.  We can kill a man with one finger in the right place.  Make him happy with that same one finger, too, so we’re just fantastic whichever way you look at it.”

      “You are redolent of inanity.”

      “And you, Mycroft baby, are kissable when you’re annoyed.  How about giving your sweet, sweet daddy a nice big one to entertain the troops.”

      “I feel ill.”

      “Arthur, why don’t you and Sherlock go and get my precious snookums a nice daiquiri or other lady drink and I’ll fan him while he gets over the vapors.”

      “Right!  Oh… Mycroft does look a little green, doesn’t he.  Come on Mr. … just Sherlock.  I could use some more juice anyway and the lady at the bar makes it just the way I like it.”

      “With an umbrella.”

      “Yes!  It makes it taste much better.”

      “Of course it does.  We’ll make sure Mycroft gets two.”

      “Brilliant!”

Sam waited until Sherlock and Arthur had gotten out of earshot before turning attention back to Mycroft’s scowling form.

      “Ok, now that the kids are gone, when are you going to man up and go talk to the head honcho over there?  The hired muscle is here for him, you know, and cutting eyes over that way like a goddam schoolgirl trying to get her crush to notice her hasn’t been getting you anywhere.”

If this evening didn’t end with him trying to beat the Yankee to death with a chair, Mycroft would be greatly surprised.

      “Whatever are you going on about now?”

      “Another game show?  Really?  You are the worst fucking spy in history, but I’ll play it your way since it’ll make you look even dumber than you do now.  Your oily buddy William Warren’s been alternately avoiding him and fawning over him like a dog that can’t predict it’s master’s mood.  The muscle never gets more than five feet from the guy and you’ve kept one of your monkeys within range of both of them at all times.  You’ve got a surveillance camera dedicated to him, too.”

      “Those are _not_ visible.”

      “Hah!  I love it when I guess right.  Now that I’ve danced for you, honey pie, why don’t you answer me about why you’re being a chicken shit and not just taking the mountain to Mohammed?”

      “Because it is prudent to wait for the invitation.  This gathering is, as you are aware, a chance for those I wish to reach to take their measure of me.  Pressing the issue will not work in my favor.”

      “I’d think they’d be a little more impressed if you showed some nuts about the whole deal.”

      “Then isn’t it a good thing your opinion matters exactly nothing to me.”

      “Do I have to do _everything_ for you?”

      “If by everything, you mean severing your nattering tongue from your mouth, then do not let me interrupt you.”

      “Just wait here.  Let me pull your ass into the fire where it belongs.”

Mycroft watched in horror as his nemesis drained his drink in one swallow and carried the empty glass over towards the bar, pausing near the target to ask a question and nodding the man to follow him over to the opposite end of the bar as Sherlock and Arthur.  The horror increased as conversation began and… was the cretin actually laughing?  And… no, he could not be looking at the mole on the man’s neck.  This was a disaster!  Anyone, anyone he could have named as his partner and his addled mind picked the most… why were they walking this way?  Mycroft suddenly did feel like schoolgirl whose secret love suddenly noticed her.

      “Mycroft, I’ve got someone you simply have to meet.  Mr. Ashworth, I’d like to present Mycroft Holmes.  He’s also one of you government men, so I’m sure you’ve have any number of war stories to share.  I’ll check on your brother, shall I, dear?  I think he’s about at his limit for socializing.”

      “The younger Mr. Holmes does not enjoy a good party?”

      “My brother regards social gatherings as a penalty for his status of birth.  However, he does attend when asked and I believe he takes pleasure from allowing his Arthur to mingle with new faces.  Thank you, Samuel… perhaps send them home in the car if Sherlock wishes it.”

Years of training kept the tenderness in Mycroft’s eyes as his sworn enemy kissed him on the cheek before leaving to close the night for the younger members of their team, a decision that Mycroft could not help but approve of.

      “Your Samuel is quite the fellow, isn’t he?  It must be comforting having a doctor in residence.  Both for you and your… other companion.”

      “The Detective Inspector does benefit greatly from Samuel’s presence and, to my own great fortune, believes strongly that _sharing_ , shall we say, is a rewarding personal philosophy.”

      “In that, you _are_ very fortunate.  And, also, that he is so strategically placed in law enforcement.  Well, as soon as his condition improves, of course.”

      “He was, as they say, a lucky find and I am not one to discount the occasional lucky happenstance.”

      “Good.  It is more than a little foolish to ignore any opportunity to further one’s ends.  Or to remove obstacles to them, which is why I must applaud your swift action in regards to Edgar Peterson.  He was troublesome from many standpoints and I cannot say I mourn his passing.”

      “In that, we are of like mind.”

      “In other things as well, I suspect.  And I would like the chance to explore that idea more deeply, if possible.”

Invoke luck and it shall, apparently, appear.

      “I find that a most agreeable suggestion.”

A card was placed in Mycroft’s hand and the elder Holmes’s internal sign of relief was equaled in intensity only by his internal scream of victory.

      “I will be in the city most of the week for business.  Do give me a call so we can schedule a meeting.”

      “It would be my honor.  I very much look forward to a mutually-rewarding discussion.”

      “As do I.  Now, if you will excuse me, I have a few items of business to discuss with William.”

      “Of course, and I must see to Samuel.  He can make such mischief if I am not vigilant.”

      “I am quite certain he can!  I shall send along a bottle of whiskey I think he will enjoy.  I know he has the American taste for bourbon, but I think he shall be pleased.”

      “You are far too kind.”

      “It is no trouble.  Have a good evening, Mr. Holmes.”

      “You as well, Mr. Ashworth.”

In his fingers.  All of his work, his planning, his sacrifices and now… in his fingers was the final key.  One phone call, one meeting and he would finally be positioned where he could swing the axe and take the head off of the hydra.  One meeting that would give him the access for which he had been patiently waiting.

      “Hey sugar britches, you smiling because you’re thinking of me?”

Oh, how the acid could spoil the sweet milk.

      “In actuality, yes.  The thought of your body drawn and quartered fills me with a sense of great happiness.”

      “You’re so cute when you’ve got PMS.  I take it your gabfest with Donny-boy went well.”

      “Donald Ashworth has made himself available for a meeting with me.”

      “That what you wanted?”

      “Yes.  It is the outcome for which I was hoping.  I believe it is not unreasonable to say that the end of this particular operation is now in sight.”

      “You can add that to my bill.”

      “I do not acknowledge your assistance.”

      “God, you’re a little bitch.  See if you get any from me tonight.”

      “When Gregory is well, he will likely be less inclined to tolerate your frippery, so you would do well to curtail it now.”

      “Well, I do love a good fight, so let’s see that happens sooner than later.”

It wasn’t right that Samuel Harris could steer an argument to a place where Mycroft lost his ability to offer resistance.  But, for a demon, it was perfectly understandable.

      “I can only concur.”

      “And buy me a drink.  Mine’s gone dry.”

      “Provided you do not lose your sobriety to the point where your hands become problematic for me.  What… that was NOT an invitation!”

      “Butt’s not bad, but I can teach you a few things to really firm it up for Greg’s groping pleasure.”

      “I rescind my previous statement.  Please drink yourself into a coma and remain there for the duration of my lifetime.”

      “Oh baby, the things you say… that’s why I love you dearly.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks, as always, for all of the generous support I've received for this series!

             “That was fun!  And it’s still early enough to tell Skip about everything I did and not have him fall asleep in the middle of my story!  I must say that one thing he didn’t get from your family is being able to live without sleep.  You and Mycroft must have something in your brains that Skip doesn’t have because you two can last without sleep… well, I don’t think I’d be alive if I had to get by with as little sleep as you get!  I really like sleeping, too, especially when it’s warm and snuggly and you can just lay there and dream and eat snacks and…”

      “Arthur, you cannot consume snack foods when you are asleep.”

      “Sure you can!  You may not know this, but there _are_ people who sleepwalk, which could be a bit dangerous if you were taking a little stroll and not really knowing where you were going or thought you were going one place because you were dreaming of going to see a film, but you were actually walking to a farm and wouldn’t you be surprised when you woke up standing around with the sheep!”

      “Whereas I will concede to the condition of somnambulism, I have never observed you to exhibit the symptoms.”

      “Is that like when the man swings the watch in front of your face and you get sleepy and quack like a duck?”

      “No, it is not related to hypnotism.”

      “Good then, because while I don’t mind quacking like a duck, it might be a bit disturbing if I did it while I was trying to have a warm, snuggly sleep.”

      “Not that the subject is raised, however… I have no information on the possibility of a person being hypnotized _while_ sleepwalking.  That could be a very interesting experiment.”

      “Oh!  You could also get the chance to see that people _can_ eat snacks when they’re asleep, which I know is true, because when I fall asleep with a biscuit or crisps package, I wake up and they’re all gone!  There’s really no other explanation for that, now is there?”

      “Does your dog, perhaps, sleep with you on occasion.”

      “Of course!  Snoopadoop loves to sleep in my bed.  She starts off at my feet and then wriggles her way upwards until, sometimes, she makes it all the way onto the top of my head.”

      “ _And_ does your dog enjoy biscuits?”

      “She loves them!  Mum says she can’t have chocolate ones, but she loves to eat all of the other kinds, which is actually quite brilliant because I’ve tasted the biscuits they sell for dogs and they’re really not that tasty at all, even if you dip them in your tea or smear them with jam.”

      “Thank you for the additional information, I am sure it will be of value in the event that John becomes confused when doing the shopping.  Now, is it also the case that she enjoys crisps or cheese or popcorn or any of the other foods I have noticed you consuming under the auspices of snacks?”

      “She most certainly does.  I’m not supposed to feed her treats, but who can resist those big puppy eyes when they look up at you and say they want crisps?”

      “There is a connection I am trying to outline for you, Arthur.  Have you yet picked up on the pattern?”

      “There’s a reason Snoopadoop is a bit plump.”

      “Ancillarily, yes.  Given the pieces of information we have discussed and our initial question as to whether one can consume snacks while asleep, can you formulate an alternate hypothesis as to what is the fate of said snack products once you have fallen asleep and relaxed your vigilance?”

      “Come again?”

      “Your dog eats your food, Arthur.”

      “What!  Of course she doesn’t… oh, dear.  That might explain the cheese powder I found on her muzzle.”

      “It might.”

      “Now that I think about it, Mr. Sherlock, I have to agree it is entirely possible that you may be right.”

      “Excellent, now…”

      “But that doesn’t explain why I wake up with cheese powder on my face, too.”

      “Now that _I_ think about it, Arthur, I have to agree it is entirely possible that you may be right.  _You_ can eat snacks in your sleep.”

      “Brilliant!  Well, that was like a mini-case, wasn’t it?  The Case of the Missing Snacks!  I’m going to tell Doctor Watson about it.  He might want to put it on his blog.”

      “Oh, of that I have little doubt.  Fortunately his password is ever so easy to crack.”

  
__________  


      “Well, that was special.”

      “Are you being sarcastic?”

      “You actually asked me that.  That’s why I adore you honeybuns.”

      “If one more appalling term of supposed endearment falls from your lips, I shall have said lips sautéed and served to the local feral cats.”

      “Oh stop.  You know I can’t resist you when you flirt.”

      “The mere thought fills me with a cold sense of the plague.”

      “I bet you can flirt up a storm when you want to.  Give the invalid a little tingle in his dingle.”

      “That you were able to successfully secure a spouse, let alone procreate, defies my ability to comprehend.”

It was the lack of ridiculous comeback that laid the first kick to Mycroft’s brain.  His conscience laid the remainder.

      “Oh Samuel, I am so very sorry…”

      “Hey, no problem.  Shit happens, right?  Life goes on.  Nothing else it really can do.”

      “You do not have to make light of your loss on my account.  We may not be… more than cordial… however, I hope that you recognize that I would never mock your pain.”

      “It’s ok…. thanks, though.  You’re not an ass, Mycroft; I know that much about you at least, so it’s all good.  Really, it’s fine.”

But it wasn’t, that much was obvious from the very artificial smile on the American’s face, though, Mycroft was fairly certain that the man was sincere in accepting his apology.  The memories, however… those would be more problematic to lay to rest again.  Perhaps, it would be wise to give them a bit of airing out first.

      “Thank you for that.  May I… would it be overstepping my bounds to ask about them?  I know little of your family beyond the small note in your dossier.”

      “Small note… I guess that’s really what they are anymore, aren’t they?  But small doesn’t mean unimportant and they were the most important things in my world while I was lucky enough to have them.  James Michael Harris… not the fanciest name, but he was going to be a great man.  Sharp as a tack and interested in _everything_.  Laura and I had the worst time keeping up with him!  He was into everything in sight, brave as hell when it came to exploring his world… real credit to the… real credit to the Harris name.  Actually, made his old man look like a complete dumbass.  He was really going places.”

Mycroft was not at all comfortable with other people’s emotions, with the exception of his beloved Gregory or dear, sweet Arthur, and certainly not with those of his archenemy, but he couldn’t deny the heavy weight in his chest from watching the man hold back the darker emotions that were threatening to spill out.  Oh, this was not at all his bailiwick…

      “I am… I am quite certain you can find a more appropriate tribute to your son than his ability to outthink his father.”

Humor was a word not found in the Holmes personal lexicon and Mycroft felt more than ridiculous attempting it in this situation.  However… that was not an artificial smile now sitting on his opponent’s lips…

      “You’re right about that… you really are 100% right about that.  You know… you and the wife would have gotten along.  She was a smart cookie, taught chemistry at the local community college, and liked nothing better than hosing me down when I started my juggling routine.  Had a good glare, too, which my son inherited in spades.  Thought I’d melt through the floor when they’d double-team me for doing something crazy.  Or stupid.  Usually both.”

      “She sounds very much like a woman of character.”

      “She _had_ character, I _was_ the character.  Somehow, we worked.  And produced the best little boy in the world.  He could... he could draw, too.  Put a pencil or crayon in his hand and he’d fill every available surface with spaceships that you could use on a magazine cover or knights and castles and fierce dragons.  The princesses always had red hair, too… just like his mom.”

      “Artistry in the blood, you were very fortunate.  And, he must have been rather ginger himself, if I am not mistaken.”

Finally a laugh, and one that was as honest and real as Mycroft had ever heard from the man.

      “He’d give Martin a run for his money.  We’d go to the beach and I’d have to put up a big tent to keep the pair of them from turning into lobsters.  Of course, Jimmy’d keep escaping and going off to look at shells and crabs and pieces of seaweed.  Only toddler on the beach not eating sand, though.  Even in diapers, he was smarter and more inquisitive than every other kid out there.  I just wish he could have had more time… learned all he wanted to learn…”

A feeling Mycroft _could_ sympathize with because it was ever-present at the back of his mind while Sherlock struggled with his problems and, more than once, seemed to have finally run out of time.

      “It is profoundly distressing that those with the most to give to this world seem to spend the least time upon it.”

      “No argument here.  Means you and me will live to see the colonization of Alpha Centauri.”

      “I shall adjust my investment portfolio accordingly and ensure Gregory is cryogenically frozen so he may share the celebration with me.”

      “If he doesn’t love you now, a thousand years on ice will _really_ get the spark going.”

      “He will appreciate my efforts.  Gregory is nothing if not passionate about space colonization.”

      “Oh god, he’s one of those.  Let’s see, he reads… scifi crap and… gotta be mysteries.  Fat, juicy crimes that always get solved by the hard-working detectives.”

Now it was Mycroft’s turn to laugh… that was a _very_ good description of the Detective Inspector’s tastes in literature.

      “The nail has been hit on the proverbial head.”

      “I am officially confiscating his e-reader.  Bad enough he’s got holes in his body, I’m not letting him put holes in his brain.”

      “Gregory would be terribly aggrieved.  He very much enjoys his reading experience.”

      “Oh fine, but it’s on you when he’s a drooling mess.  I refuse to wipe up self-inflicted drool.”

      “Why do I have a wealth of suspicions that the contents of your shelves are quite similar to Gregory’s?”

      “Because you’re clinically insane.  And I can sign a paper to that effect.”

      “Psychiatry is not among your degrees, doctor.”

      “Shit, I knew I forgot something.  There’s _always_ something.”

      “Then consider your thinly-veiled threat suitably foiled.”

      “I’ll have you know thatI don’t waste time with thin threats.  I like big and boisterous ones, they’re a lot more fun.”

      “Subtlety, Samuel.  A threat loses effectiveness if it is applied with too heavy a hand, when it becomes reminiscent of something a cartoon villain would inflict.”

      “But it’s in the big and boisterous that you can hide the thin and subtle.  Toss out a huge whopper and wait until you catch that little look that says they found the surprise inside.”

How very intriguing for a doctor.  It _was_ an effective strategy if one had the correct personality…

      “There is, perhaps, truth in what you are saying, but it would still be an act requiring precision of language.  Delicacy…

      “What’d that witch say?  Be a hamfisted asshole and you wreck the spell?  Gotta listen to witches or your butt lives out life as a frog and who wants to eat flies and swim around in gross ponds all day?  I mean, after awhile it’s all gotta be fish pee, right?”

No.  The insufferable man did _not_ just reference his favorite film.  Or his favorite line from his favorite film.  Simply a mistake of hearing.   Perhaps he should ask John to recommend an audiologist.

      “I have no knowledge of your intended reference.”

      “Awwww, you tried.  It was almost convincing, too.  I’d give you a medal, but Arthur’d have to make it first.”

      “That would be rather an interesting thing to observe, regardless of your infantile reasoning.  He _is_ very creative when it comes to decorations and adornments.”

      “That’s the truth and you gotta love him for it.  He’s a great kid and Martin’s lucky to have found someone like him.  Arthur seems like exactly what he needs.”

Something Mycroft had to agree with wholly.  If there was truly a Cupid responsible for the making of matches, Mycroft would already have written him a very sizeable cheque for his efforts.

      “I cannot argue.  Martin’s life has been a difficult one and has set many scars on his soul.  Fortunately, Arthur seems to be a very powerful balm for soothing those scars and helping them heal.”

      “That’s what the right person does.  It’s like that for you, correct?”

      “Whatever do you mean?”

      “Don’t play dumb; you don’t do it well except when you are actually _being_ dumb.  Is Greg helping you with your own scars?”

The impertinence!  Though it was, of course, blessedly true.

      “This is not a subject I am prepared to discuss with you.”

      “I didn’t ask for a discussion, just an answer.  It doesn’t take a genius to figure out your own soul’s covered in scar tissue and I’m just asking if it’s starting to fade a little now that you’ve got the right person in your life.”

      “None of this is any of your business.”

      “If that statement was supposed to be acid, it’d barely be vinegar, so I suspect the answer’s yes and you just don’t want to admit it.  Or _do_ want to admit it, just not to me and that’s ok.  As long as you know it’s true, you don’t need a confessor and I’ve drunk all the sacramental wine, anyway.  Just do me a favor and hold onto him, Mycroft.  Do whatever it takes to keep him, to protect him, to just have him with you… as wonderful as it feels right now, it’s going to get even better the deeper it creeps into your bones and becomes a part of you.  But it’s going to tear you apart if you lose him.  Eat you alive from the inside out.”

Of course it would.  Gregory _was_ a part of him now and losing his man would be as easy to bear as losing his mind.  And with exactly the same result.

      “I… I am already aware of that particular fact.”

Very aware, in fact, with the variety of awareness that refuses you sleep for nights on end while your heart pounds and the sheets get clammy with your sweat.

      “Good.  See you _stay_ aware of it.  Do _not_ let other commitments and responsibilities push it out of your head…”

The doctor jerked his head slightly and let a lecherous gleam rise up in his eyes.  It was only then Mycroft realized the car had stopped.

      “Well, looks like I’m home, so thanks for the ride.  Goodnight kiss for your date?”

      “I will have you executed.”

      “Playing hard to get.  Ok, that’s not a bad thing.  I hate it when my dates are too easy, I mean, what’s the challenge in that?  But, since I’m not giving you another chance, I guess it’ll all just have to remain a mystery.  ‘Night, Mycroft.  If you get a chance between covering him with hugs and kisses like a lovesick teenage girl, tell Greg hi and that I’ll see him tomorrow night.”

Mycroft watched the doctor unfold himself from the car and give a completely childish wave before walking towards the very modest building, in which must be a series of very modest flats.  One mental note was made to look over again the American’s finances, because it seemed a bit incongruous that an individual of such talents lived in such meager circumstances.  But could purchase a very expensive suit.

  
__________  


      “There’s my party host.  How’d it go, love?”

There wasn’t really any surprise in the fact that his Gregory was still awake and waiting for him, but how silly of the man… rest should be his prime concern and that was the one truth he seemed most reluctant to embrace.

      “Far better than I could have expected.  It was as placid an evening as I had predicted, however, the outcome did provide a spark of excitement.”

      “Details!  Seriously, you can’t leave me hanging on this one.  John’s been a complete villain and wouldn’t even let me have my tiny sips of lager.  Then he growls because he’s got to be the stern parent, so I’m getting it coming and going.”

Mycroft took a seat next to the bed and took his lover’s hand in his own after giving Lestrade the kiss he’d been waiting to give since he’d left hours before.

      “How dastardly of him, I shall have John removed forthwith from your care.  Of course, you will have to endure the extra attentions of that beastly American, so I am not certain that you would truly desire me to such measures.”

      “Sam gives me beer so sorry John, but your fate’s sealed.”

      “I shall attend to it in the morning.  I do hope that his severance package will not bankrupt my coffers, however.  I would hate to forego tea in the morning due to a sudden eruption of poverty.”

      “Give him a weekend away in the country, _alone_ , and he’ll be satisfied.  Sherlock’s been pecking at him nonstop since he and Arthur got back.  I think he’s off now having a few glasses of something calming, actually.”

      “I _have_ wondered, of late, if my brother somehow contracted poultry genes in his development.  His ability to peck has been growing steadily since puberty.”

      “You could be right, but, I don’t think John would have it any other way.  Sherlock pecking is better than Sherlock ignoring, so that’s them settled and content. Now, stop stalling and tell me about your excitement.  Especially if it involved nudity or high-speed chases or both.”

      “Piloting a vehicle at high speeds while unclothed is not quite as enjoyable as you might anticipate, my dear, and in truth, there was little to my excitement that was visible for anyone else to observe, but it was a thrilling moment for me.”

Mycroft pulled from his pocket the small card and showed it to the Detective Inspector.

      “I am to arrange a meeting for which I have very long been hoping.  The gates are opening to end this filthy business and close the door permanently on that portion of our lives.”

      “Put it to bed for good?”

      “As you say.”

      “Until the next time.”

Not an inappropriate concern, but one Mycroft thought he could lay to rest.  It had been the work of many of those sleepless nights to come to the decision, but, ultimately, it would impact insignificantly his ability to conduct his duties, but gainsay him a veritable heap of benefits with his partner.

      “There shall be no ‘next time,’ Gregory.  My prior association with Edgar was the only reason that this situation arose in the first place.   It was the most expedient path to the goal, but I am learning that the cost of expedience is not one I am always willing to pay.  I have labored long in the service of government and have asked nothing for myself, but now I have asked one thing.  There will be no further next time’s for this sort of business, Gregory.  It is not an unreasonable thing, really… both my age and reputation are beginning to dog my heels and the portrayal of a paramour, be it of a sincere one or a rake, is becoming less suitable for me.  For your sake and mine it is time to retire that particular method of conducting my, pardon the expression, affairs and leave it to those more suited and amenable.  I hope… I sincerely hope that allays your worries, though if it does not, tell me what more I can do and you may consider it accomplished.”

Crossing one’s mental fingers was always a painful process, but Mycroft waited and was finally rewarded by the very pleased grin that overtook his Gregory’s face.

      “Really?  I mean, I don’t want you to not do your job, but…”

      “It will not impact matters unduly.  This is not a role I have ever had to employ but rarely, so it is not a difficult thing to relinquish entirely.  And, as an additional truth, I could no longer perform that role with any degree of true success.  It is very easy to pretend to love when you have none in your life and now… I cannot pretend anymore.  It would simply not be possible.  We have only to look at your current state to know that is the case; I could not even fool a fool like Edgar for very long.”

      “I never really thought about it like that… I guess that’s a compliment, in a way.”

      “A very sincere and profound one.  I have never seen my efforts so utterly compromised and, for that, you may congratulate yourself.  You, Gregory Lestrade, are the only person to ever truly defeat Mycroft Holmes.”

Such a beautiful and enticingly pleased smile.

      “I won’t let it go to my head.”

      “A small amount of smugness, I believe, is allowable.  You have surely earned it.”

      “Then I’ll lay here in my bed of smugness and you can tell me how the party went.  I want all the stories, especially about you and Sam.  I bet he made the night hell, didn’t he?”

      “Hell would be a kinder spot to be than in any location in which Samuel Harris can be found.”

      “Did he swing from the chandeliers?”

      “If they were available, I would not disbelieve it of him, however, I must admit that he did moderate his normally deplorable behavior so that I did not spend the evening shuddering in embarrassment.  Even Sherlock contained his childishness to a degree that I was not following in his wake offering apology to everyone with whom he interacted.”

      “Well, he _did_ have Arthur to keep him in line.”

      “That is quite true.  Sherlock _has_ shown a tendency to curb his more dramatic tendencies when Arthur is present to tut-tut his behavior.  It is another trait that enhances their ability to function as a formidable crime-solving team.  And it did nearly slip my mind, but you are to set aside particularly troublesome cases of littering, as well as lost pets, for Arthur’s investigative skills to pursue when next he is in London.”

      “I’ll start a folder.  When I can actually _start_ a folder, that is.  And don’t think I’m not angry that none of the bastards from my team’s even called to see how I’m doing.”

Ah yes, something that _had_ slipped Mycroft’s mind...

      “That is because they do not know of your condition.  As far as anyone is aware, you are on loan to another investigatory branch and shall be until further notice.  It was not prudent to allow this information to be disclosed and attempt to contain the resulting investigation.”

      “Which would cock up your own plans.”

      “Precisely.  Once this matter has been concluded, they _shall_ be notified and I am quite certain you will receive copious numbers of visitors and obligatory ‘get well’ gifts to add to the existing joyful décor.”

      “And you won’t mind a bunch of cops trampling your nice rugs?”

Not once the more expensive ones had been moved to less traveled rooms, but in any case, there was nothing that would stand in the way of his love taking this house and making it his.

      “Gregory… this is your home now.  As you would normally conduct your life, you shall continue to do so.  Your friends are most welcome to pay their respects and your tastes and style shall come, through time, to be a very welcome part of the environment.  I want you to be happy here, my dear.  To feel comfortable and secure.  The status of my rugs is completely inconsequential, though I would appreciate advance warning if you are to host an event, so that I may ensure the pantry and spirits trolley are fully stocked with appropriate offerings.”

      “You want to hide the 150-year old port and the like.”

      “Some things I prefer to reserve for our personal consumption.”

      “Well, you won’t hear me saying no.  Nobody can run through food and alcohol like the lads when they’ve got a night off.  But, don’t worry, I don’t have people over often.  Or ever.  At least not since I moved to my flat.”

It pained Mycroft to even think about Lestrade alone in his small flat, trying to recover from the dissolution of his marriage, but that pain only strengthened his resolve to help his Detective Inspector forget those hard times.  _All_ of the hard times.  And along those lines… his Gregory had endured a very trying day and deserved some reward for his patience and agitation.

      “It shall be at your discretion to have or not have guests in our home, my dearest.  And I shall never complain that my evenings are spent solely in your company, for it is only then that I can do _this_ and not fear for your modesty.”

Mycroft ran his hand under the large, button-up shirt in which they’d taken to dressing Lestrade and lazily ran a finger across the warm and unmarked belly that fluttered lightly at his touch.  Then it was a firmer caress, with his entire hand that continued in circles until he was almost certain he could hear Lestrade purring like a large and lazy cat.  And it was no real effort to move his hand a little lower, under the very loose pair of boxers to provide a slightly more intimate contact and, on his part, to enjoy the widening grin on his lover’s face.  It would be some time before they could enjoy much more, but this was incredibly satisfying on its own merits.

      “I really like that, you know.  I can’t tell you how often I just wished you’d be there to do something like this.  No sex, just… contact.”

Something no one had ever especially wanted from him and nothing he had ever especially wanted to give due to the, oddly, greater intimacy involved.  But simply touching his Gregory was such a joy.  A massage, running soapy hands over his skin in the shower… how wonderful it would be to have such decadence at his fingertips.

      “But now, I can be here and, further, I _shall_ be.  I truly cannot abide the wait, for example, until John permits me to more fully tend to your bathing.”

      “I’m not going to make you give me a sponge bath, Mycroft.”

      “ _Make_ me?  You speak as if unfettered access and permission to caress every part of your body to my heart’s content is a burden.  Make me… how utterly absurd.”

Wickedness was a look his lover wore exceedingly well.

      “I’ll get my chance someday, too, right?  Nice long shower where I get to wash you like that BMW of yours?”

And Gregory was so absolutely thorough and wanton perpetrating that particular cleansing…

      “I can deny you nothing, my dear, therefore, I shall place myself entirely in your capable hands.”

      “Yes!  I can already picture it.  In fact, I _am_ picturing it.  Now that’s a lovely image to go with my belly rub.  Think I’ll just lay here and be happy.  You don’t have any plans, do you?”

      “None at all.  Shall we explore what else might be rubbed while you relax?”

      “I love you, Mycroft Holmes.  Have I told you that lately?”

      “I believe so, however, I am more than willing to hear it again.”

  
__________  


As Mycroft suspected, a bit of affection and quiet quickly sent Lestrade into a peaceful sleep, though the affection didn’t cease for some time afterwards, owing to the pure luxury of unrestricted time to enjoy the sensations in his fingers.  It was only luck that he had removed his hand to use it to hold a book that John didn’t catch him in his little indulgence.

      “Thank god.  He’s like a kid, won’t go to bed even though he’s exhausted.  I was worried I’d have to slip him a little something to put him to sleep and I’m really trying to avoid that right now.”

      “Is it not beneficial that he rests?”

      “It is, but I’d rather it be honest than chemically-assisted rest.  He’s got enough chemical assistance right now and more is not better.”

      “Perhaps you should have allowed him his lager.  He was most put out that his ration had been withheld for the evening.”

John laughed a tired laugh and made a quick check of his patient’s monitors.

      “Honestly, I didn’t think I’d have the heart to tell him he had to stop at Sam’s silly limit line and he _cannot_ have a whole bottle right now.”

      “Was his morning truly so arduous?”

      “And afternoon.  I raised the bed up again for a little while and that’s not a pleasant thing for him right now.  It’s got to happen, but neither one of us enjoys it.”

      “How painful is it, John?”

      “Not as bad as it could be, though it’s going to get worse.”

      “You are maintaining his pain medication, correct?”

      “Of course, and he’s still getting a good bit, but we _are_ creeping it down.  Sam wants to set a pretty rigorous pace for getting Greg moving forward and we need him away from the heavier pain killers to do that.”

A rigorous pace did not sound like a very healthy plan for someone in such a fragile condition.

      “Is that wise, John?  Gregory is so terribly injured… wouldn’t a harsh pace be detrimental to his recovery?”

      “Too harsh, yes, but the same can be said for too easy a pace.  But, if you’re worried, I wasn’t exaggerating when I said Sam was the best there is; what he can do with a patient frankly amazes me.  It kills me to see Greg hurting, but I knew that was going to be the case taking on this job.  Ultimately, I trust what Sam says about how hard we push Greg and it’s not like he just dictates things out of hand, he shows me why he wants to do things and… it’s like dealing with Sherlock.  Once I see what he’s talking about, it makes perfect sense.  He’ll only do the right thing for Greg, Mycroft… you’ve got no reason to doubt that.”

When it came to his Gregory, Mycroft had no reluctance to doubt whatever he found troubling or unsupported.  However, John would not place his faith where it was unwarranted.

      “I shall accept your reassurance on his medical expertise, John, but I would also like your opinion on… what type of man is he?  Samuel is not entirely the buffoon he delights in portraying, that much is evident, however, I have little else by which to gauge him.  I would appreciate your input.”

      “I don’t know what there is to tell.  He’s surprisingly well liked, for being a complete bastard, and as much as he goes on about having a bird on each arm, I don’t really think he’s as active as all that.  When I was… when I needed someone to talk to or get a pint with when Greg was busy, I don’t think Sam was ever _otherwise_ _occupied_.  Either that or he doesn’t mind leaving his date frustrated while he sees to a mate’s sanity.”

Another person he had not served well in a time of difficulty.  It was a very fortunate thing that John had at least some people to whom he could turn during Sherlock’s absence, since he had not presented himself strongly as a willing candidate.  Even now, he could not look back and claim it was a poor decision, because Mycroft harbored sincere doubts he could have of any assistance to the grieving John Watson.

      “Does he speak much about his family?  I would not have imagined him as a stalwart family man, but I am gaining that image of him the more he and I speak.”

      “You mean his wife and kid?  No, not at all.  I think I’d known him nearly two years before I even knew they existed and that was only because I saw their picture in his flat and asked about them.  I can’t say I really know anything about them except he loved them fiercely.  He’s got a brother, too, somewhere, but they don’t speak, from what I understand.  Younger, but I don’t know by how much.”

Six years, if Mycroft’s memory served him.

      “I understand.  Also, I deposited Samuel at his place of residence tonight and was quite surprised at the condition of his building.  It is not what I would expect for someone of his means.”

      “HAH!  That place… it’s actually nicer on the inside than it looks on the outside, but not by much.  He just doesn’t care, I think.  As long as it had room for a big bed and a big telly, he was happy.  And it’s close to the hospital, which I think was the most important thing when he was looking.  Sam’s got money, doesn’t bat an eye about spending when he wants to but… really, I just don’t think he cares.”

Mycroft supposed it was possible, but he had rarely come across an individual who did not more closely link his standard of living with his income.  On the other hand, the infernal doctor defied nearly every expectation one could set…

      “It is an interesting theory.  Do you, by any chance, know why Doctor Harris left America?”

      “He hadn’t actually been there too consistently for some time, I think.  Did some work for Doctors Without Borders and the Red Cross, if I remember right.  I know he put time in with the military, though I’m not completely sure in what capacity.  I asked him once why he came to London and he said he just wanted something different, but didn’t want to go through the trouble of learning a new language.  Or going without, as he calls them, the creature comforts.  If you really want my opinion, Sam’s just enjoying his life.  Going places, doing different things, meeting new people.  It wouldn’t surprise me if he picked up next month and went back to the States or onto a completely new life somewhere else.  He’s not got any real ties here, so why not keep going and find out what life has to offer?”

      “Thank you, John.  That is helpful.”

But not terribly informative, though what Mycroft had hoped to hear he had no firm idea.

      “Don’t let him fool you, Mycroft.  I’ve caught him once or twice when he’s been stinking pissed and I wasn’t as far gone and he’s definitely not a clown.  He’s got a strong core and it got strong by living through hardships that I’ve never been able to pry out of him.  That crack I made about dancing on his parent’s grave?  I don’t think it’s too far from the truth, honestly.  He never talks about them or has any photographs that I’ve ever seen.  The best way to handle him is to just let his mouth run and ignore his nonsense as best you can, knowing he’s always 100% aware of what’s going on around him and will do absolutely everything he needs to,  exactly when he needs to do it, when there’s a job to be done.  I think all the antics are mostly to keep himself from being bored with the things and people around him.  It’s a _game_ and if it keeps him amused, who’s to say it’s not a good thing?”

Mycroft’s acid reflux said it wasn’t a good thing, but John did have a point.  The idiotic doctor shifted between the asinine and the intense in the blink of an eye, indicating that a goodly portion of his lunacy was affected, at least to some degree.  Fortunately, Sherlock had no appreciable sense of humor or comfort in his own debasement else he would likely try such a route to stave off his bouts of boredom.

      “One does what one must, I suppose.  Again, I must thank you, John.  I am simply attempting to gain a fuller understanding of a person to whom I have entrusted Gregory’s welfare.”

      “He likes you, if that makes any difference.”

Oh heavens, now _this_ doctor was suffering mental impairment.  Was it possible that any medical practitioner in London was not afflicted with some form of defect in the reasoning portion of their brains?

      “I believe you are suffering hallucinations, Doctor Watson.  Shall I prepare you a bed next to Gregory’s?”

      “Funny man.  Listen to me,  when Sam doesn’t like someone, he basically ignores them.  Or verbally tears them to shreds if they’re incompetent or uncooperative when there’s a job to be done.  He’s a pain in your arse because he knows you can give it right back to him and he wouldn’t bother unless he thought you were worth playing with.  Congratulations, Mycroft.  You’ve made a friend.”

Joyful.

      “Is it possible to return him for a refund of the purchase price?”

      “Tried already.  No one’s willing to claim him, let alone take him back.”

      “I am overjoyed, but I do believe his presence shall not darken my door until tomorrow evening, correct?”

      “Yeah, I’m doing a double shift, which reminds me… Sherlock’ll be staying over here tonight.  He’s refusing to go home unless I go with him so I’ve got a tick under my skin until I’m relieved of duty.  Just giving you fair warning.”

      “I have a great deal of work to accomplish tonight, so I think it will not be a difficult matter to avoid Sherlock’s own brand of clownishness.  I will likely remain here much of the night, so do feel free to use a room to take a bit of rest for yourself.  Gregory shall be asleep for quite awhile if I am not mistaken and you should take advantage of the opportunity.”

      “Sleep while the baby sleeps, that’s what my mum always said and I’ll happily take you up on that.  It’ll keep Sherlock out of your hair, too.  Come and get me if anything at all worries you.”

      “I will, John.  Enjoy your rest.”

Though what percentage of the time would be spent sleeping was not something Mycroft wanted to seriously contemplate.  Regardless, the bedding would be sanitized, if not irradiated, when the room was vacated.  Once the doctor had left, Mycroft picked up the new laptop, which had been provided with certain programs and permissions to make it suitable for just this type of late night toil and input his login information.  He anticipated many nights standing guard while the Detective Inspector slept and had ensured that the time could be put to very good use even away from his study.  Finally, Mycroft settled into the chair near the bed and after a few moment’s hesitation, rose again quickly to place one last kiss on his Gregory’s cheek.

      “Sleep well, my dear.  I shall be here if you need me.  And you may consider that a promise.  One I shall never break.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A time for some things to get aired out between Mycroft and Lestrade...

John wished Mycroft was better about listening to advice, though it did seem to be a family trait to turn a deaf ear to things they didn’t want to hear.  Although Greg’s wounds and incisions were healing, they were still very difficult to see and Mycroft’s unease was adding to his patients, which wasn’t the best situation. And he had Greg sitting up again, which was going a little better than it had been, so much so that it might be possible to get him on his feet before long, at least for very short trips to the loo, which was becoming a major source of irritation for the Detective Inspector.  For someone recovering from massive injuries, his stubbornness was showing no signs of impairment and he’d probably bullhead his way into taking those few steps no matter what John advised.  But, since that sheer force of will had likely been what kept Lestrade alive during both incidents of his ordeal, John was not going to complain.

      “Gregory, if this is too uncomfortable for you…”

       “Nah, it’s a little easier now than when John first propped me up.  And I’m still really laying down, see?”

      “I do hope there is no veracity exam for your return to service, for you shall surely not receive a passing score.”

      “Calling me a liar?”

      “And very eloquently, if I do say so myself.”

      “Well, keep your eloquence to yourself.”

      “But I so delight in sharing my verbosity with my loved ones.”

      “John, got one of those lethal injections lying around here somewhere?”

      “I’ll check after I get some breakfast.  Mycroft, keep an eye on him.  Anything really worrying, as defined by Greg, mind you, come get me.”

John left the pair to their own devices while he looked to get something in his and Sherlock’s stomach.  Arthur’s culinary expertise wasn’t on offer as he and Martin had gotten an early start on sightseeing and an afternoon at an art studio that was giving ceramics lessons.  Arthur, especially, was very keen on that activity and John just hoped that their future ‘little house’ had room for a potter’s wheel and kiln if the lad took a liking to the art.

      “How rude that he does not credit my ability to properly assess your condition.”

      “More like he knows if I sneeze you’ll be dialing 999.  Really, Mycroft it’s ok, I… christ!  Ok, that _wasn’t_ ok, but I shouldn’t have tried to reach over.”

      “Gregory!  If you require something, ask and I will obtain it for you.”

      “Not a bloody invalid.”

      “For a period of time you are at least approximating one.  Regard it as a period of infinite luxury.  Your every need tended, every wish my command…”

      “If I have an itch, I have to ask someone to scratch it for me.”

      “Problem?”

      “Man should be able to scratch his own itches.”

      “Not one who is in the early stages of recovery from a traumatic injury.”

      “Scratches for itches!”

      “Is that your rallying cry?  Does your group perhaps have literature to distribute to more clearly delineate the salient points of your cause, because I am entirely unclear as to your position?”

      “I want to scratch my itches.  I want to get my own water.  Or a beer.  And a big carton of hot and spicy Thai food.  I want a shower.  A hot, soapy shower and I get to wrap up in a big, fluffy towel when I’m done.  Does any of that sound crazy?  Like I’m reaching for the sky?”

      “If moving awkwardly didn’t pose a substantial danger of tearing sutures or causing significant internal distress, then no… it would not be unreasonable.  You are alive, Gregory.  You are in a vastly superior condition than anyone could have predicted.  Already you are further along in your recovery than another in your situation would find themselves and if having to ask that your knee be scratched, I would consider that a pittance of a price to pay.”

      “Fuddling me with your reasonableness isn’t fair play.”

      “Playing fair is not something in which I have ever placed a great deal of stock.”

      “I’m doomed.”

      “The acceptance of one’s fate is said to bring peace.  How marvelous for you.”

      “I’d make a rude noise, but you’d probably find a way to tell me that’s marvelous for me, too.”

      “You are especially adorable when you are sulky and petulant.”

      “Grown men with hair on their chest can’t be adorable.”

      “I beg to differ.  Perhaps I shall have a study initiated to demonstrate to you how incorrect you are in your perceptions.  I, for example, am supremely adorable.”

And Gregory would never have to know that he was truly most adorable when he found something that Mycroft said amusing.  It was such a rare thing that he could truly make someone laugh and Gregory did so deliciously.

      “Arrogant bastard.  Lucky you’re right this time or we’d be having words.”

      “Salacious words, perhaps?”

      “I might be persuaded.  Give me a few days, though.  Right now my witty repartee vocabulary is not in top shape.”

Seeing the sweat forming on his Gregory’s brow and the strain in his smile, Mycroft knew that a few days might be a conservative estimate.  Though with his partner’s pigheadedness, he could easily spend the entirety of the day practicing some provocative wriggling dance to perform when Mycroft returned this evening.

      “You remain at the top of your game for that, my dear.  I would not fear for that your skills for tantalizing verbalizations have atrophied in any fashion.”

      “Yeah, well…. I can’t give my best go at filthy talk, so I’ll settle for simple stuff.  Well, Mycroft, my day is going to be more of the same old nothing… how about yours?”

      “Much the same as yours.  I expect a large portion of my time to be devoted to keeping a watchful eye on a situation currently simmering in Latvia, however, I suspect nothing will come of it.”

      “And how much of that is because you’re going to make sure nothing comes of it?”

      “No more than a small percentage, I assure you.”

      “Oh, you’d better get back in front of the mirror and start practicing keeping a straight face.  You lying is getting piss poor.”

Only when he wanted it to be.

      “Truly, I feel the cut of shame to my core.  However, I do not anticipate a late evening, so might we consider our options for entertainment?”

      “You mean telly, telly or more telly?”

      “Or some reading, perhaps with a nice musical selection to accompany our relaxation.  I could draw for you; you do enjoy requesting such challenging subjects.  A bit of virtual sightseeing would be an interesting option… it would be quite enjoyable to explore wherever we might wish to go through the intervention of a small amount of technology.  A game?  Chess, cards, something I see Arthur engaged in with his mobile?  Some time to share the newspaper and discuss the events of the day?  Perhaps…”

      “I concede!  Good to know you’re ready with the funmaking if we ever get snowed in somewhere.”

How lovely a ski holiday would be one day with his Gregory.  Even if they never saw a slope, the ambiance was so conducive to relaxation and romance…

      “I am fully prepared to entertain you no matter the severity of the blizzard.  But, for now, we can at least be assured of electricity and heat to make our merriment more comfortable.  And, should we desire it, a wealth of company to share the time.”

      “If Arthur and Martin aren’t exhausted by their bit of touristing.  I hear they had a grand day planned.  Any… any idea when they’re going back?”

It was comforting to Mycroft to know that his own reluctance to see the boys leave was matched by his partner’s.

      “It has not been discussed, however, they cannot stay indefinitely, no matter how pleasant that option might be.”

      “Yeah, boys got their own life to live and lots to get started on for their wedding.  I didn’t do much myself, but what my ex went through planning ours was insane and it wasn’t even anything fancy.  At least we’ll get front-row seats to all of the preparations.  I’m sure Arthur will be on the phone every day to discuss what new thing he’s come up with for ideas.”

      “Verily, it shall be a long and eventful road to bring them to the altar, but I have no doubt that every moment of effort will be worth the final result.”

      “Did you just say verily?”

      “A word I hold in reserve for special occasions.”

      “I _am_ telling Sam about this.”

      “Then do give me time to find something appropriately venomous to drink.”

      “Come on, Mycroft…”

      “The man could not be compared to an anal fissure and be considered the more pleasant to contemplate.”

When a reply wasn’t fast in coming, Mycroft looked more closely at his Detective Inspector and was unsettled by the contemplative look on the man’s face.

      “You really don’t like him, do you?”

      “Gregory, it is not an issue of importance.”

      “No… it is.  I mean, you’ve got to interact with Sam and if you’re not comfortable with him being around, then we have to maybe change things.  There are other doctors and, though I really like having him on my team, if you’re not happy then I can’t ask to you pay the man for…”

      “Stop.  Simply stop and listen to me, my dear.  Firstly, the _only_ thing that matters to me is your welfare.  If it was required of me to dye my skin blue and learn to tap dance in order to facilitate your recovery, I would not hesitate, therefore, enduring the infantile doctor’s ridiculous antics is a terribly minor matter.  And, as of this moment I have not yet transferred to him any money, so I cannot say that I am paying him.  That he suffers my own slings and arrows without remuneration…”

      “He’s not getting paid?  Is he… is the hospital paying him?”

      “Samuel is on leave of absence, so he is not being paid a wage.”

      “Then how’s he making his bills?  Christ, Mycroft… get me my wallet!  There’s no way anyone’s doing what he’s doing for me and not getting paid.”

It looked for a moment as if Lestrade was going to launch himself out of the bed, tubes and all, and it was instinct that propelled Mycroft up to nearly cover his partner’s body with his own.

      “Gregory, you must be still!  Please, my dear, do not become agitated…”

      “Mycroft… it’s hard enough knowing that you’re paying for all of this, but… I’m not having anyone do slave’s work for my sorry arse!  It’s not right!   Get me one of my cheques and… what’s the right pay for this sort of work?”

      “Gregory, I will have a discussion with Samuel tonight if you wish concerning his financial compensation for his assistance.  And it would not be possible for you to… I shall handle things, my dear. Please, just remain calm.”

But Mycroft already knew he’d once again stepped on landmine.  But it was not as if the issue was one he felt necessary to discuss at this delicate point in Gregory’s healing, so he would tentatively resist giving himself the mental kick he was hoping he didn’t deserve.

      “What do you mean, not possible?  I’ve got a little put away and without my rent payment…”

The moment the realization hit, Mycroft held his Gregory’s arms tightly to prevent another outburst.

      “ _I’m_ not getting paid.  Oh god… I’m not getting paid.  I’ve got no money coming in, do I?  It’s true, isn’t it?  I’ve got nothing of my own coming in right now…”

Mycroft did the best he could to hold the highly distressed Lestrade but the man wasn’t accepting the comfort.

      “I can’t have it this way, Mycroft!  I can’t!  I’ve got to have something… do something if I’m staying here.  I can’t just be a big fucking parasite!”

      “Gregory Lestrade!  That is quite enough!  You are not a parasite and I will not tolerate hearing that word in our home again!  Your position is being held for you, but it was not appropriate to allow you to continue to draw a salary.  When you return, it shall be to the same position, at the same wage level, but until then… unless you desire to apply for government assistance…”

For a man in a highly-compromised condition, Lestrade could muster a surprising amount of strength when he was especially angry, as Mycroft was coming to learn quickly.  And his legs were quite mobile for not having been used for an extended period and could apply a fairly sharp kick with the knee.

      “If you ever say that again, I’m leaving!”

      “You will calm yourself!  I am very aware you do not find that option acceptable and I offered it up only to make that fact unquestionably clear.  There are government options open to you, Gregory, but I know that you would chafe to even have the thought in your mind, though I also know that you would gladly swallow your pride and avail yourself of those options if you lacked any other choice.  But you _do_ have another choice and, in all honesty, it is one that makes me exceedingly happy.  You have heard the expression that two can live as cheaply as one?  It is not far from the truth, if you analyze the economics of both domestic situations.”

      “I can’t be a leach on your bank account, Mycroft… I thought, though why I have no idea, that I’d be able to contribute _something_.”  Pay my way somehow… god, I was so stupid.”

      “You cannot berate yourself for failing to reflect upon money when you had far more important matters to occupy your mind.  And money is something we have in more than sufficient supply, my dear.  And I did not use the term ‘we’ haphazardly, Gregory.  What I have is yours, you must realize this.”

      “Not if I can’t do something to pull my weight.”

      “You will!  When you return to your former career or take on a new one after your recovery, I will gladly add your income to our accounts, but until then, I beg of you to accept what little I can do to assist you to find your health once more.  I know it is trite and perhaps condescending, but it is only money.”

      “Easy to say when you’ve got it.”

      “Yes, you are absolutely correct.  It _is_ easy to say.  When you have an excess of something there comes a devaluation of it’s worth.  Or, at least, you assign it a different importance that someone who suffers its lack.  To you, friends and affection are… normal.  Expected and, perhaps, taken a bit for granted.  For someone such as me, those are things that are pitifully rare and I cannot begin to describe how profoundly I covet both.  Something you acquire easily, I have never found myself able to garner and therefore I assign both an almost magical significance now that I have you, my dearest, and our new family.  I understand your mind on this, Gregory, but I ask that you understand mine.”

      “I’ve worked for everything I have, Mycroft… whatever I’ve had it’s been _mine_.  I’m not… I’m not comfortable with the idea of ‘our’ when it comes to this.”

      “Did you bristle under that circumstance in your marriage?”

From the look on Lestrade’s face, Mycroft knew he had scored a point, albeit a reluctantly-conceded one.

      “We’re not married.”

It was not really a topic for discussion now, but very little about his relationship with the Detective Inspector had gone according to a predictable timetable.

      “It is not out of the question, however.  I will admit to having turned the thought around in my mind at times and not found it ever to be unpleasant.”

And this look was also one Mycroft would not have predicted, but was very pleased to see.  Curious, rather than offended.

      “Me?”

      “I have made no secret of the fact that I desire you to be a permanent part of my life, Gregory.  I have not pressed the issue, but I have not hidden my intentions either.  How we shape our relationship is a matter that will we will discuss, I am certain, many times as we move forward, but perhaps it is not inappropriate that you know that following young Arthur and Martin’s example  is not something I have discounted.”

      “Me?”

      “Have I broken your mind, my dear?”

      “No, I just… I’m just _me_.”

      “There really is no better description, I suppose, and none that more succinctly summarizes why I have given thought to formalizing our relationship if and when we both desire it and believe that the time is proper.”

      “I… oh no.  No, fucking… fuck me!”

Sometimes, his unpredictable partner was more unpredictable even than normal.

      “Gregory!  What is troubling you, now?”

      “The ex.  How am I going to make my support payments… god, just as I was… I can’t win.  I just can’t ever win…”

There seemed to be some clerk in heaven who deemed today a good day to have Mycroft clear some of his accounts of conscience.

      “That has been taken care of, Gregory.  Do not give it another thought.

And there would be no looking at his lover’s face and seeing the expression that would probably cut through him like a laser.

      “Pardon me?”

      “When it became clear that you would be without income for an extended period, I took… steps.”

      “You paid her off.”

      “I affected a settlement that she found quite suitable, yet was below the amount you would have paid through the limits of your mandated support.”

      “You just cut her a cheque for a chest full of cash and that was that?”

      “Essentially, yes.  If we return to the argument of our conjoined finances, then I will posit I made a wise financial decision for the both of us.  The outlay was less than it would have been and this closes the door for any possible actions on her part to petition for an extension of her support award.  If you wish to chide me for failing to discuss the matter with you, I will not consider it out of bounds.  In my defense, you were not in a position to actually discuss _anything_ at the point I took this action.”

      “I cannot believe you paid off my ex.  I _cannot_ believe it.  I can’t even manage my own ex-marriage!”

      “Gregory…”

      “No!  I don’t want to hear how it was a trifling amount or that it actually saved money!  It was _my_ marriage!  I was the one that let it fail!”

Even Lestrade seemed shocked he’d made the exclamation, but Mycroft refused to give him any chance to take the statement back.

      “Gregory, you need to explain yourself.”

      “No… just no.”

      “I would counter with yes… just yes, but that would only serve to increase your agitation.  I am not unaware of the circumstances of your marriage and its dissolution, my dear, and there is no fault that can be laid at your feet.  She… she was neglectful of you, failed to give you proper affection… she was unfaithful, Gregory.  There is no excuse you can make for that.”

      “Not excusing it, just… she wouldn’t have had reason to go cold, cheat on me if… no, I don’t want to talk about this.”

Mycroft would have loved nothing better than let this particular tendril of their conversation die, but he knew it would be absolutely the incorrect move.

      “Want is not a factor of significance, Gregory.  You _must_ talk to me about your thinking.  I very much believe this is something that we must bring out into the open.”

      “Hah… it’s kind of fitting, now that I think about it.  I was the provider in that relationship but failed as a man.  Here, I’m failing at both.  Sliding right down that hill like a good little bag of trash.”

This was most certainly outside of Mycroft’s abilities to handle and it shocked him profoundly that his Gregory could even begin to think in those terms, but every physical cue screamed that he absolutely did believe his words and Mycroft wasn’t sure he could begin to stop his own heart from breaking.  Emotional swings… John had certainly not underplayed how difficult this was going to be for Gregory and… for him.

      “You are speaking nonsense, Gregory.  You did not fail in your marriage.  Knowing you as I do, I am entirely convinced that you behaved in a caring and honorable fashion.  If that was not sufficient for your wife, then that is not something for which you can claim fault.  And there is no excuse for her infidelity.  I know that it seems the height of hypocrisy for me to speak on this issue, but there is no excuse for unfaithfulness, especially when the option of a divorce is easily pursued.  It is a truth of life that individuals make decisions based on their own standard of morals and you cannot make yourself responsible for her choices.  And I shall not even dignify your supposed failing in our relationship with discussion.  You are mistaken; I shall leave it at that.”

      “I’m not even able to uphold my own responsibilities, Mycroft… that’s failure.”

      “Failure would be not caring about your responsibilities and that is something you most certainly do not do.  You are gravely serious about your responsibilities both in your work and in your life and that is one of your most attractive qualities.  I may have made an error in stepping in before discussing the matter with you and, for that, I apologize.  But, I will not apologize for taking an action I would have argued for in the first place.  It was the right action, my dear.  The worry you would have suffered, the mental strain… it would have been very detrimental to your health and I could not permit that.”

      “Do I… do I have _anything_ , Mycroft?  Is there anything that’s mine besides my clothes and the blankets on this bed?  Christ… I never thought I would be in a position of truly having nothing…”

      “You have the balance of your bank accounts, your personal possessions… you have very nearly what was yours at the moment of your… accident.   The only change, and I do not disagree that it is a significant one, is the temporary loss of income.  And I stress most highly the temporary nature of your financial status, for once you are recovered you will again see an inflow of income.”

      “How much is in my account right now?”

      “I do not have the exact figure on hand, however, you may examine your accounts at any time with your computer.”

      “Take it.  Put it… do something with it.  Pay the groceries or keep the lights going or something.  If it’s all I can do then it’s what I’ll do.  And when I’m on my feet… I’ll find something to do.  Cook or do the laundry or something to help pay my way.”

      “Gregory…”

      “Let me do this, Mycroft.  Just… let me do this.”

It was ridiculous.  Under no circumstances should the Detective Inspector be thinking about engaging in any form of labor until he was fully recovered, however, fracturing his pride any further was the worst possible thing he could do for his love’s wellbeing.”

      “I am not unwilling to join your accounts with mine, Gregory.  In truth… you are already listed as a signatory on several of mine.”

      “What?  Why in the world would you do that?”

      “To allow you access to funds if you found yourself in need and I was not accessible.  I cannot and will not promise that I shall not find myself absent for an extended period at some point and I could not leave you without means.  There are cheques and cards already prepared and waiting for your use.”

      “That’s… I can’t accept that!”

      “You can and you will.  This is not a gift, Gregory, this is insurance in case an unexpected circumstance arises.  Nothing more.  Perhaps… ah.  Wait one moment.”

Lestrade watched as Mycroft pulled over the laptop and began typing.  After a few moments he set it down carefully on Lestrade’s lap and simply waited.

      “Is this real?”

      “Very.”

      “That’s… that’s a _lot_ of money, Mycroft.”

      “And that does not include the properties and possessions.  It also does not include the accounts that are known to no one but me.  And now you.  You can see those if you move to the second tab.  And there is the contents of certain storage rooms, safes…”

      “You are fucking rich.”

      “I have never denied the fact.”

      “I mean you are… you are buy-your-own-continent rich.”

      “I would not go that far, but perhaps you have a better idea now of why I care so little about certain things.”

      “I… I do.  I actually, honestly do.  Weirdly, this actually helps.  Is Sherlock…”

      “Sherlock is better off than he knows; however, I shield him from the extent of his holdings as a precaution against his very unpredictable moods.  The bulk of the family monies, however, passed ultimately to me and my coffers are fuller than his as a result.”

      “Well, we’ll keep that our secret.  I mean… yeah, he can get a little out of hand sometimes.  He’d probably go out and buy himself a research lab or something, complete with human subjects to do tests on.”

      “That does rather sound like something he would do, doesn’t it?”

Mycroft set aside the computer and gently took a seat on the edge of Lestrade’s bed.

      “I know that you find it difficult to understand why I love you so dearly, Gregory, but please accept that I do.  And accept also that I understand why you have concerns and insecurities and will discuss them with you whenever you desire since it is my intention to do whatever I can to make you comfortable with our life together.  Now, shall I return your bed to a reclining position?  I am quite sure you are in need of some rest at this point.”

      “You’ll take my money?”

      “I shall make the transfer today.”

      “And when I’m working again, you let me pay for what I can?”

      “I will be happy to do so.”

      “Then, ok.  I’ll try and rest a little, but… it is easier to snog when I’m upright like this.”

Finally, his lover was making a reasoned and realistic point.

      “Is it?  I believe I shall have to put that to the test.”

      “I was always good at tests.”

      “Then we are both going to have a nice reward, aren’t we.”

It had taken a long time, but finally there was his Gregory’s real smile shining on his face.

      “Already got mine.  I just have to get him to lean closer.”

      “As always, my dear, you may have of me whatever you wish.”

      “Oh, then I hope you can be a little late at the office today.”

      “I believe I can allow myself a small indulgence in time.”

      “Then let’s make good use of it.”

With what was likely the last of his strength, Lestrade tugged over his Mycroft and settled into being kissed by the most attractive, most understanding, most… patient man he’d known.  And he was going to need understanding and patience, apparently, because already his emotions were getting away from him.  John and Sam had warned him, but he didn’t think it would hit quite so hard.  Or so fast.  Ok, something to think about when Mycroft left for the day.  This was not the time for thinking, this was the time for feeling and what he was feeling was simply fantastic… and someday, not today… but someday… they’d get back to that discussion about rings and tuxedos…


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all for your kindness and continued support for this story!

Mycroft only left Lestrade’s room when the Detective Inspector forced him to go and tend to his actual duties, but it was not something the elder Holmes found at all pleasing.  His Gregory was still emotionally raw and leaving him in this condition went against every instinct he had to protect the man and see him happy and well.  But, hovering would only further savage his partner’s damaged pride and that was not permissible.  However, he _would_ alert John to the situation and, very fortunately, Sherlock was, apparently, locked away destroying his study so the conversation could be a private one.

      “Got time for tea before you leave, Mycroft?”

      “A small cup would be agreeable, thank you.”

Mycroft drew out a chair and sat a moment, only now noticing that the muscles of his legs were twitching as if they were exhausted from having to support such a heavy heart.

      “How’s the old man doing?  I’ll pop in and…”

      “In a moment, if you please, John.  Before you do, I would like to have a small conversation concerning Gregory’s state of mind.”

And given the tone of Mycroft’s voice, John decided that it was a conversation they very much needed to have.

      “What happened?”

      “Gregory became very agitated upon realizing that his current status of dependency extended far beyond the parameters he had originally envisioned.”

      “Ok, I really didn’t follow that.  I’ve only had one cup of tea and had to spend the time drinking it convincing Sherlock that there was plenty of medical information concerning the rate of hair growth and that he didn’t have to shave my head and do his own experiment.  I’m not sleeping without a hat for the next week, just in case, though.”

      “Ah, that would be the continuation of an abortive investigation he began with Martin.  I intervened before matters got too far out of hand, but our dear cousin did sport a small tonsure for some time.”

      “Wonderful, now… back on topic.  I got as far as the very agitated part before hearing a big haze of words.  Give it to me in simple terms.”

      “Gregory realized that he is currently not drawing a salary and, therefore, is having to rely upon me not only for physical support, but financial, as well.”

      “Oh.  Wait, don’t they have something in place for wounded officers?”

      “Gregory was not wounded while performing his duties, so an injury benefit is not warranted.  Upon his shooting, I affected a transfer of him away from his position, however, his actual employment status is nebulous.  Whereas I could, when his condition is made public, have the incident described in terms of injury in service to the government or have him installed retroactively in fixed position in a government appointment…”

      “Greg would throw a fit.”

      “He _would_ find it dishonorable.  And he was not appreciative with my reminder of other avenues of support that might suit his situation.”

      “I bet not.  So, he caught a face full of how bad off he is right now and had a bit of a breakdown.”

      “That would be correct.  It is understandable, of course, however it was not pleasant to watch him suffer such, as he saw it, humiliation and loss of self-worth.”

      “You’re right, it _is_ understandable.  I had it a little easier since I knew that my pay wasn’t getting impacted and that I’d get _something_ if I was discharged.  And… it’s hard to describe, a large, anonymous hospital doesn’t leave you feeling like you’re indebted to the people who work there.  It’s a _job_ for them and that’s the end of it, but here… he knows that he’s directly asking things of his friends and that’s harder to do, especially over the long term.  It shouldn’t be… it should be that your friends _are_ the ones you go to for help, but it’s a hit to the pride to have to do it.  And now, knowing that he can’t even toss his wages into the household finances… yeah, he’s hurting.”

      “I feel I was effective in curtailing the worst of the potential downward spiral and he is now in fairly good spirits, however, I thought it prudent you be aware of the situation.  And, there was some physical interaction…”

      “Don’t want to hear about you and Greg having hospital-bed sex, than you.”

      “You are truly a single-minded individual and not for the good.  I refer to the physical aspects of his distress.  He was quite vigorous in expressing his upset and you may wish to give him an examination to ensure there was no damage from his outburst.”

      “Bad?”

      “I think I shall have a bruise or two.”

      “Ooh… sounds like he let a lot of bile flow out.”

      “There was also an issue concerning his former marriage, but I would rather not discuss the details.  I have found that ruminating on Gregory’s previous marital state gives rise to a measure of bile of my own.”

Mycroft had no idea why John found that statement funny.  And his withering stare was completely ineffective in stemming the tide of giggles.

      “Greg will be very happy to know you’re jealous.  I think he worries you’d never be jealous where he’s concerned.  Probably stems _from_ that disaster he calls a marriage.  What a misery he went through and still thinks it was all his fault, I suspect.”

      “You are aware of his sense of guilt?”

      “Oh yeah, lots of pints were killed discussing that very fact.  I worked too much, I made too little, I brought work home with me, I didn’t notice she was miserable, blah, blah, blah…  He took responsibility for things falling apart and that was complete bollocks, which I told him, even though he didn’t listen.  He got worked up over that again?”

      “Yes, that would be the long and short of it.”

      “So a right old emotional dump and it landed on you.  Good.”

      “Pardon me?”

      “Well, it’s better than him trying to hold it in.  Or waiting until someone like Sam or me is there to vent to.  I know it wasn’t fun for you, but it’s a sign of trust that he didn’t try to bottle things up like he’s done before.  He’s coming to feel more secure about letting his feelings show and, though it may be rough to watch and you may earn a few bruises, emotional and otherwise, it’s actually a very good sign”

A perspective Mycroft had not considered, while caught up in the clamor of things, but, giving it some thought, he found that he agreed.  It truly had taken little prodding to nudge Lestrade into speaking and there was not a time Mycroft felt he was being evasive or hiding valuable information.  Yes… a good thing.  Though he would sit away from his lover’s legs the next time they had such a discussion.

      “Then I am thankful for every battle scar I carry.  However, if you learn anything further…”

      “If I feel I can share it, I will.  Sometimes Greg is going to tell me things that he won’t want you to hear and you’ll have to accept that.  It’s both the doctor code and the friend code and that’s just that.  But what I can share and feel I should, I will.  Sam’ll do the same, if you’re concerned.  Though he might not be as delicate about it as I will.”

Delicacy was antonymous to Samuel Harris.

      “Then I am reassured.  Ah… I’m afraid I must depart.  Time moves swiftly when the conversation is robust, does it not?  I shall not have an especially late evening, but I assume you will have already left by the time I return.”

      “Unless you plan on coming back by five or so, then I’m saying my goodbyes now.  Sam’s coming in a little early to give me a break, but I’ll fill him in on things when he gets here so he’ll be up to date.”

      “Very good.  If you find you have need of anything…”

      “Go to work, Mycroft.”

      “Insufferable.”

      “Actually, I think you suffer me pretty well.”

__________

      “Rule number one, I am not talking about anything.”

      “Did you have a stroke while I was talking to Mycroft?”

      “No, but I know that look in your eye.   It’s the ‘oh Greg if you just share your feelings you’ll feel so much better look’ and I’m not having any of it.”

      “Oh, so Mycroft can give you _his_ it, but I can’t.”

      “Rule number two, making me laugh does not erase rule number one.”

      “I’ll let you have a line full of lager.”

      “It’s only… oh, who the hell cares what time it is when there’s beer to be had?”

      “First, though, I’ve got to give you a look over.  Mycroft said it got a bit rough in here, and not in a ‘oh John go get me a nice wet flannel if you please’ way.”

      “Ha ha ha.  Even trying to steal my style, you bastard.”

      “From what I heard, you threw a nutter over that being the _only_ thing you had to steal.”

John set about checking under his friend’s bandages and did find a few places that told him Mycroft hadn’t exaggerated the _energy_ behind their discussion.  He’d have to watch closely that this didn’t become a pattern.  Greg having a damaging outburst once was fine, but repeatedly was a red flag for darker things starting to take hold in his friend’s psyche.

      “Yep.  Got zero to my name.  Those aren’t even my socks.  Gregory Lestrade doesn’t even own his own socks… that’s how far I’ve sunk.”

      “You should get Arthur to make some hats for your pity party.”

      “Sure, I’ll borrow the money from Mycroft to get things started.”

      “And Martin can help with the decorations.  You know this is temporary, right?”

John let Lestrade breath through a few unpleasant pokes and prods and think about what he wanted to say next.

      “Yeah, I guess I do.  I just hadn’t thought about it and then there it was staring me in the face like some big evil cat.  I’m not destitute, John, and I know that but it’s still a rude awakening to realize that even more in my life’s changed than I already knew about.  But… after talking to Mycroft, I feel better about things.”

      “Do you want to know how bizarre it sounds that Mycroft handled an emotional volcano and no one’s in a coma or hiding under the bed?”

      “Ha!  He’s good at it, too.  I know it’s not his strong point, no more than it’s Sherlock’s, but he’s not bad at filing down the edges when I’m a bit off my head and… he tries.  Even if he was crap at it, he tries and that’s the most important thing.”

      “True.  And he _is_ trying.  He worries about it, too.  That he’ll do a good job, be what you need… he’s a boyfriend that’d make Arthur proud.”

      “And he’s looking for a promotion.”

Oops.  Lestrade hadn’t wanted to let that slip, but apparently his subconscious had other intentions.  And of course John had to be a bastard and snatch away the blanket he was trying to pull over his head.

      “Is there something you’d like to share, Gregory Lestrade?  Or do we have to start using a different surname when talking to you.”

      “Piss off, John.”

      “Oh no, we’re having none of that.  This is… official?”

      “WHAT!  NO!”

      “That was loud.”

      “Yeah, sorry.  No… no official anything.  He just mentioned that he’d thought about it.”

      “That’s waffly”

      “Maybe, but it’s true.  He said he’d given it some thought.”

      “And?”

      “And he didn’t dislike the idea.  Thought it was something we’d talk about more later on.”

      “And what about you?  What did you say after Mycroft basically told you he had his eye on making this something permanent.  Legally permanent.”

      “Nothing.”

      “You’re an arse.  Man puts his heart on the line and…”

      “It wasn’t like that… it just reminded me about paying the ex and… things went a little downhill after that.”

      “Oh…well he probably understood and didn’t take it as a monumental rejection or anything.”

      “What?  Oh, fuck me…”

      “I’m kidding!  No, really… I’m just kidding.  I’m just bollocks at it, apparently.  Mycroft wasn’t upset when I talked to him, at least, not upset in the way someone who just got their heart crushed would be upset.  But… what _would_ you have said?”

      “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something doctory?”

      “I can take your temperature if you want.  Got a rectal thermometer around here somewhere.”

      “Bastard.  Honestly, I don’t know what I would have said.  I’ve been married and it didn’t go very well, did it?”

      “Mycroft’s not your ex.  As much of an idiot as he is, the man’s actually put a lot of strange and and only partially ineffective effort into preserving your relationship.  And he strikes me as someone who, once he’s made a decision, it gets tattooed on him somewhere.  For as much hell as he put you through, I have to say that I believe he cares and would do everything he could to make you two successful.  And I really don’t see you being happy simply living with someone for the rest of your days.  Maybe I’m wrong, but…”

      “No, you’re not wrong.  I _do_ believe in marriage when you love someone and think they’re the right person for you.  I’m a little old-fashioned that way, I guess.”

      “And I think, deep down, Mycroft is, too.  I just doubt he ever thought he’d be in a position for the concept to apply to him.  So, are you interested in what he’s offering?”

      “I’ll take that thermometer now.”

      “Be serious for minute, will you?  Does it at least sound like something you’d want with him?”

      “He said it wasn’t something he was thinking about for right now.”

      “Would you quite trying to stall and just answer me?”

      “Why’s it so important?”

      “Oh, I don’t know.  My friend’s just gotten a pre-proposal from someone who loves him and, somehow, that seems important!”

      “You need to hand in your cock, mate, because you’ve turned into a girl.”

      “Just answer or yours will be in the drawer next to mine.  Which will prompt comparisons that you won’t find flattering.”

      “Fine.  If, and I’d put those air quote around it if I had any energy left, I get married again, I can’t see it being with anyone except Mycroft.  But that’s me talking now with a body full of holes and drugs and hatred for my nosy doctor.”

      “Then it’s official.”

      “You are as out of your mind as that Edgar character was.”

      “Nope.  I know you and if you’re already that far along with your thinking, then I don’t feel so bad about having to purchase a new suit for Arthur and Martin’s wedding since I’ll at least get to wear it twice.”

      “Three times.”

      “What?”

      “No, you’re right…you and Sherlock will probably be in formal wear.  Actually, I’m going to make Mycroft see that you have to wear a very fancy tux and say all sorts of frilly and embarrassing vows.  No sign the register and off you go.  Big production that I can laugh at for years.”

      “Now here’s an excellent example of being out of one’s mind.”

      “You and Sherlock having your first dance as a married couple… Arthur will have about a thousand photos of that.”

      “Not gonna happen.”

      “I’m going to hire him as the photographer, actually.  He’ll do a more thorough job than any of those professionals and the things he’ll decide to photograph will make sitting through six million pictures worth every minute.”

      “You obviously did more than tear yourself in a few places when you had your fit.  I’ll order a battery of psychological tests to start tomorrow.”

      “Really, you’re going to push me for my contribution to the agony column, but won’t make one of your own?  Hypocrite.”

      “Sherlock and I are fine as we are and there’s no reason to change that.”

      “No reason not to, either.”

      “Yes, there is.  Sherlock’s just starting to adapt to having someone do more than share the flat with him and he’s handling it better than I would have thought so I’m not going to toss another grenade into the middle of his life.”

      “So you do want to marry him!”

      “No, that’s not what I said.  Right now, the thought isn’t even in my mind.  We’re happy and adding a ring to our fingers isn’t going to make us happier.  Actually, it might actually compromise what we already have.  Sherlock’s used to being a free and independent person and I’m fairly certain this is about as far as he’s comfortable being linked to someone.  And he’d probably sneer at how traditional and pointless the whole thing is, so… best to leave things be.”

      “So, in summary, you want to be John Watson-Holmes, but you’re worried it’ll scare off the Holmes part of that and ruin things.”

      “Yes to the latter, you’re insane about the former.”

      “Good, then I can get Mycroft putting together one of those files he so adores.  Ideas about locations, honeymoon destinations, jewelers.“

      “Dammit, Greg!”

      “Didn’t say we were going to use it now… just have it reserve.  I’ll be honest with you, John… I don’t believe Sherlock would sneer as sharply as you seem to think.  He’s attached hard and I’ve never known him, when he’s involved in something be it an investigation or an experiment, not to take it as far as it’s able to be taken.  But, I do agree that it’s not something for next week, either.  Give the lad a good bit of time to adjust and learn what it really means to have someone not just living with you, but loving you in the bargain, and then start dropping hints.”

      “You really _are_ the agony column!”

      “Got nothing better to do, now do I?”

      “If you feel a sting, it’s me injecting you with something to erase the past five minutes of your memory.”

      “Go for ten.  In fact, reset me to when I woke up and I’ll be a happy man.”

      “Oh no… except for doing yourself a physical mischief with your tantrum, the rest was good for you.  And you don’t want to forget Mycroft announcing his intentions, do you?  I wonder how Sherlock’s going to react when he hears about that?”

      “You will _not_ …”

      “Kidding!  Wow, your sense of humor must have slithered out of those holes in your chest like a runaway rat.”

      “Well, since you never had a sense of humor, I understand your scornful envy.”

      “Doctors are used to abuse from their patients so consider yourself no better than a buzzing fly.”

      “Speaking of, when’s Sam taking over?”

      “Late afternoon.  He’ll probably get here a little before five.  Why?”

      “Let’s see what you learn about abuse after I tell him you’re pining for a shiny band of gold.”

      “You want me to promise not to get my laughs at your expense, don’t you?”

      “Yep.”

      “You’ve turned into a sour man, Greg Lestrade.”

      “Must be an infection from your lackluster standard of care.”

      “If Mycroft wouldn’t kill me for leaving you alone, I’d be heading home for that crack.”

      “Mycroft wouldn’t kill you, John.  Bad form to kill your brother-in-law.”

      “Die.”

      “Not today, thank you.  I’m suddenly having too much fun.”

__________

 Arthur knew he couldn’t bring Mycroft’s car back with them to Fitton.  Or Charles.  But it would be very nice if he could.  That way he and Skip could go places and see things and not have to worry about Skip getting angry because they were in Skip’s van and cars were behind him honking their horns or because he’d sat down on something that may have been left by accident on Arthur’s passenger’s seat which was not necessarily something that was almost-certainly wiped up, but maybe not quite if the stain on the back of Skips trousers was to be believed.  And they could kiss whenever they wanted to without worrying about causing a traffic collision.  Kissing Skip in Mycroft’s big car was especially nice since the seat was all one seat and they could sit very close and kiss for a long time without getting an achy back from leaning over the gearshift.

      “And would you declare today a success, Arthur?”

      “Success?  It was brilliant!  Who would have thought that we could found so many wonderful things to look at?  That one shop… have you ever seen so many things to use in the kitchen?  Even Mycroft doesn’t have all of that.  Oh… and I wish we could have stayed longer at the art studio.  I almost had my pot nearly round!”

      “I was great for a first go, love.  The instructor even told you that.  And you’ll get to decorate it the next time we stop by, but if we’d stayed longer you wouldn’t have gotten to build your bear family, would you?”

      “BEARS!  But we do have to go back tomorrow because I only had time to make mine and yours and Mycroft’s and Greg’s and a tiny one for Charles so he could keep it front with him and none of Mycroft’s fussy visitors would wonder why there was a bear in the car.”

      “Don’t forget Mrs. Snowball.”

      “Oh, I don’t think I could.  Isn’t she lovely?  And that was the nicest dress in the shop.  Mr. Snowball is going to be very pleased.”

      “I’m sure he will, having such a pretty wife.  And Mycroft and Greg’s look super together.”

      “Mycroft is going to be thrilled that they had a little suit just like one of his and even a small umbrella.  And I think it was a good idea not to put Greg Bear in the policeman’s uniform, though it was absolutely brilliant looking, since Greg doesn’t actually wear a uniform like that, but the coat and shirt and little hat look just like what a detective would wear!  Well, not a detective like Mr. Sherlock, but he’s the only one of his kind in the world, so that’s to be expected.  And Greg Bear is even a very handsome grey and with that cute little nose, he looks just like Greg Greg!  And I already saw lots of things to use for Mr. Sherlock’s and Doctor Watson’s and Doctor Sam’s and Mum’s and Douglas’s…”

      “We’re going to be building bears all day tomorrow, aren’t we?”

      “Oh, is that bad?”

Watching his fiancé have a marvelous time and actually make some very well-designed creations?  That was about the farthest from bad that Martin could envision.

      “Not at all.  And I’m sure the people who work there wouldn’t mind putting things aside for you when we take a break for lunch.”

      “Brilliant!  And don’t worry, Skip… I’ll get some extra gold braid and add it to your bear so Skip Bear will have more than Douglas Bear.”

Not that the thought had flitted once through Martin’s mind when Arthur was fitting Skip Bear with his pilot’s jacket and hat.

      “I appreciate that.”

      “And I have to make bracelets for Skip Bear and Me Bear, just like we have.  We can shop for that one day soon, too.”

      “You might as well make them little rings, while you’re at it.  It’d be a shame for them to still be engaged after we’ve gotten married.”

      “WEDDING!  You’re right!  They need their little rings and oh!  They do sell other outfits for our bears and there were some very nice tiny tuxedos they could wear so when we get married it’ll be like they are too!  I have to make a note to have a picture of us taken with our bears when we get married.”

      “I’m sure it will be a very nice photograph, but Arthur, we haven’t even started planning yet.  I know you want to wait and I respect your reasons, but shouldn’t we be doing _something_?  I mean, I know people wait years after they get engaged to finally have the ceremony, but I don’t think you want _that_ long a wait and it takes time to get things arranged.”

      “Oh, you’re right about that.  I’d rather not wait years to get married because I really want to be your husband and that’s about the only way to do that, isn’t it?  And you’re right, we do have a lot to arrange.  We’ve got to find a nice place for the ceremony and for the party, and get all of the decorations made and I have all that food to cook, which won’t last for years even in the freezer and…”

      “Arthur Shappey, I love you more deeply than anyone has ever loved another person, but I am not letting you do all of the work for your wedding, no matter how much you want to.  It’s too much and you should just be able to enjoy your day without having to fret about gluing jewels on the table covers or defrosting your cinnamon sausage casserole.  We’re going to let other people do all of that and you can just tell them what you want done.”

      “It _would_ be a lot of work…”

      “Right, and once we’re flying again, you’ll still have to conduct your duties as steward, so when would you be able to do all of that work by yourself?  Before we leave, we can talk to Mycroft about finding the best people to help plan weddings so you get exactly what you want.  They might even have ideas about things you never even thought of.  How does that sound?”

      “Well, if Mycroft says they’re good, then you know they are, and I’m sure if they do this for a living they’ll have lots of brilliant ideas but…”

      “But you want to make sure you still get to say exactly what you want and not have people doing things their own way.”

      “That’s not too rude, is it?”

Was it possible for his fiancé to be too rude?  Or rude at all?  Martin had a feeling if Arthur were ever actually rude it would create some worldwide cataclysmic event that not even his cousin The British Government could contain.

      “No, it is not too rude.  That’s the way it’s supposed to be and caterers, decorators and… the others … know that.”

      “Well then, we need to start planning!  Doctor Watson said Greg is doing very well and I bet we’ll even get to see him stand up before we leave.”

Which Martin knew had to be soon.  GERTI was repaired and in original condition, due to some rather vigorous thwarting of Mycroft’s best efforts to have certain other issues addressed because he was still the same enormous finger-in-the-pies boy he was years ago.  They’d had their little holiday and there truly wasn’t any reason for them to stay in London much longer.  Except that they were happy here.  Not that they weren’t happy in Fitton, but they didn’t share the same room.  Or have breakfast, a real breakfast, together in the morning.  They didn’t have a room to sit in and watch Arthur’s precious films that wasn’t cramped and cold or subject to unannounced intrusion by Carolyn.  And they didn’t have a circle.  John, Greg, Mycroft, Sherlock, even the new doctor... people they could do things with and not feel like they were intruding on the party.  He had no real friends in Fitton, with the exception of Douglas who was more or less friendly depending on the day and Arthur’s acquaintances seemed to have a hard time believing that their mate could be affianced to someone like… well, Martin.  But, Fitton was home and MJN couldn’t stay on indefinite hiatus.  They _would_ have to leave soon, get back to reality… but, setting back and watching his Arthur’s face bright with excitement… reality could wait another few days…

      “That would actually be amazing and if anyone could do it, Greg could.  But, don’t expect too much of him, Arthur.  He has a long way to go before he’s where you want him to be, so you’ll have to be patient.”

      “I’m going to be very patient.  And cheer him on every day until he’s well.  I wonder if Mycroft could get my phone connected to Greg’s telly so we could talk that way like we do when we watch a film in Mycroft’s film room?  That would be brilliant!  Greg could still be in his bed and even if I wasn’t at home, we could still sit and talk and I could wave my phone around so he could see where we are… Oh!  I could take Greg sightseeing with me!  I could hold my phone up next to my head just like it would be if he was walking next to me and we could walk around and see things.  Remind me to talk to Mycroft about that, ok?”

Martin just hoped that Carolyn wouldn’t actually receive a bill for that bit of mobile use because he would like to actually see his wedding day with a living fiancé by his side.

      “I’ll try.  Now, any last stops before we go back?”

      “Hmmm… let me think.  We have our bears and our new shirts from the Disney store and your new model and lots of brochures to find new things to do and our certificates from our art class and those very nice chocolates from the store Charles said Mycroft liked so it would be a tasty little gift for him that we all can share…  I do believe that’s everything.”

      “And so many photos…”

      “And videos!  I took several of those, too.  Mycroft showed me a button on my phone so that when I take my photographs or videos they get sent to… somewhere… so that my phone never runs out of memory!  When I want them, all I have to do is get them.  So, I got videos of you making your pot, even when you threw the clay on the wheel and it didn’t stick and flew across and hit that woman sitting next to you!  And I set up my camera while you were finding a pair of shoes for your Skip Bear and had Greg Bear and Mycroft Bear dance.  Oh, and can’t forget the one with me and you and the chocolate and the pasta scene from Lady and The Tramp.  Not that it took long to nibble our way through the chocolate, but it was a very good reenactment.  And we got to eat chocolate and kiss so that has to be my favorite video of all.”

      “I’m sure everyone will be thrilled to watch.”

      “Oh, there’s no doubt about that.  And I promised Greg we’d watch one of the old films he likes so we can use mine as previews just like at the cinema!”

      “That sounds wonderful, love.  We still have popcorn?”

      “Oh, yes.  Mycroft put three bags of popcorn on the grocery order and we still have one left.  And I wrote down the brand because it really is the fluffiest popcorn I’ve ever eaten, which is amazing since I’ve eaten _lots_ of popcorn in my life.”

      “Well, if we can’t get it in Fitton, I’m sure King Mycroft will ship it to you by the crate.”

      “Skip…”

      “No, not being tetchy… just being realistic.”

      “Silly Skipper, when we’ve got our little house and can be together more often, maybe I can make you understand things a bit better because I think you might need a lot of help understanding this one area properly if you’re still getting pouty about Mycroft.”

      “I don’t pout.”

      “Yes, you do and actually, you do it brilliantly!  You and Mr. Sherlock are about the best pouters in the world from what I’ve seen.  Can Mycroft pout like that?  I haven’t seen him do it, but I bet he could put on a rousing pout if he wanted to.  I’ll ask Greg.  If anyone knows whether Mycroft has a good pouty face it’s probably him.”

Actually, Martin had no idea if Mycroft had a pouty face.  A good pout was for when you didn’t get what you wanted and Mycroft always got what he wanted.  Even when they were kids, if Mycroft wanted something he’d get it somehow, although the methods for _how_ he got what he wanted weren’t always clear.  Sherlock on the other hand, lived with a pout on his face, even though he, too, got nearly everything he wanted.  It just never came quickly or easily enough to please him.

      “Well, I’m sure if anyone is in a position to actually make Mycroft pout, it’s Greg, so you might find out a lot.”

      “I’ll ask him to snap a photo if he gets a chance so I can see what pouty Mycroft looks like.”

      “You do that.  It’ll be something even I’d like to see.”

__________

Mycroft’s days were never as procedural or routine as he liked others to believe, but some more closely approximated that condition than others.  Today was one of the latter.  Minor matters here and there that required precious little of his attention, an uneventful lunch with uneventful dignitaries and now, it appeared that his day would end as placidly as it had endured.  For a moment he could sit back, close his eyes and look forward.  He would go home and be welcomed by those who actually enjoyed having him in their lives.  He would place a wonderfully clichéd kiss on his partner’s cheek and ask about his day.  A film was on offer, he remembered, and it would be on of Gregory’s choosing, so it would likely be new for him.  It was always a small thrill to find something new.  A new book or author, a new piece of music, a new artist’s showing at a gallery, a new film… tiny things that were especially precious to him because on a larger scale, there was very little for him that could be called new.

What was not new was a ringing telephone that chose to make itself known in the very last moments of the standard business day.  Not that Mycroft ever worked such a day, but it was still very interesting how many individuals clung to the rigid structure of the classical work day.

      “Mycroft Holmes.”

      “Ah, Mr. Holmes, it is good to hear your voice.”

Ashworth!

      “As it is yours.  To what do I owe this pleasure?”

      “I know that we are to set a time for a meeting , however, I find myself in a position to hasten that occurrence.  A number of my colleagues are joining me for breakfast tomorrow and I was hoping that _you_ would join us, as well.  A little business conducted over a very agreeable meal and, depending on the outcome, we might take our discussions elsewhere to explore some of the finer details of what I hope will be our very productive association.  Will you be able to attend?  If not, I am sure another opportunity will arise.”

Fortunately, Mycroft was far too professional to laugh at the man because there was absolutely zero chance of another opportunity if this one was refused.  However, it would not appear to be too eager, so Mycroft made the appropriate show of checking his schedule before announcing he was free for the morning.

      “Excellent!  I was hoping you would be able to join us.  Is 7:00 am too early for you?”

Since he would likely not sleep tonight making preparations, ‘too late’ might be a more appropriate phrase.

      “Not at all.  I am, by habit, an early riser.”

      “I look forward to seeing you then.”

Mycroft took down the address, though he already had it in the file he had begun preparing.

      “And I you.  I am very certain it will be a rewarding experience.”

      “I do hope so.  And don’t worry, your American shall not be the only other ‘plus one’ in attendance, at least at breakfast.  I am _most_ anxious to speak with him again.  He made an interesting comment at your party and do you know, a consultation with a dermatologist this afternoon proved him entirely correct!  My wife is most appreciative that I shall not be taking an early leave from her life due to skin cancer and I do believe she has a few items of concern she would like to discuss with him, as well.  The wonderful thing about having a medical man for a friend is the wealth of free advice one can solicit!  Well, we shall see you tomorrow, Mycroft.  Have a good evening.”

And Mycroft had not a single second to either choke or steadfastly refuse.  No.  NO!  Even though the horrifyingly infantile doctor would most certainly not follow them to the latter part of their meeting, even this much additional contact with the man was unacceptable.  And… the likelihood the insufferable American would simply say no and fail to be moved on the subject was staggeringly high.  But this was far too important for allow Samuel to stand firm on a refusal.  This was the end.  Undoubtedly present would be the others that Mycroft needed to positively identify and there was every reason to believe the post-breakfast extension would be to allow him to witness some of the workings of their network.  And that was all he needed.  Done.  Finished.  Complete.  And the damnable Ashworth… Samuel was much like the landing gear on Martin’s aircraft, completely compromising should have been an easy and pleasant flight.

One eyeing of his desk and one shuffle through his memory told him that there was nothing that he could not lay aside for the moment so he could simply return home and allow his temper tantrum to occur within the privacy of his proverbial four walls.  Gregory would be… fine.  The tiny mote of worry that had risen in Mycroft’s consciousness over his Detective Inspector’s reaction to the news died a blessedly quick death and the elder Holmes breathed a large sigh of relief at its passing.  Gregory would not be aggrieved by the situation.  They had crossed that bridge and all of its structural tributaries.  No, Gregory would not be the problem.  The problem would be arriving at his home shortly, if he was not already present, and the quicker that negotiation began the sooner Mycroft could begin planning and implementing the necessary surveillance measures to document the morning’s events and the appropriate forces required to make the inevitable apprehensions.  However, a small stop to meet with his favorite spirits purveyor would be the first item of business for the night.

__________

      “Mycroft!  This is perfect because we were just going to order pizza and now you can tell me what you want and won’t miss the start of the film or anything.  And we’ve got previews to watch, too, which is brilliant!  Our own ‘oh look here’s our day’ previews!    And… well, there might be chocolate after our pizza.  And after the popcorn, too, though I’ve heard that you _can_ drizzle chocolate on popcorn which could be very tasty, but I’d probably not use this chocolate because it came from the shop you like that smells like chocolate and posh people.”

Oh, _that_ shop.

      “And did you purchase a nice assortment?”

      “Did we ever!  They were so nice and let me taste little samples and I was only going to fill up a small box because I’m sure they cost quite a bit since you always buy the best, but Marie filled up a big box and said the rest were a little present for me and Skip since we just got engaged!  She was very taken with our bracelets, too, and said she might try to get her boyfriend to propose with a bracelet like ours since they were so special!  Then we got a tour of the back of the shop where they made all the yummy chocolate and I got more samples.   I made a note on my phone that we have to back there when Skip and I come to London next.  Oh!  And Marie said they would be happy to make chocolates for the wedding.  WEDDING!  Isn’t that brilliant!

Ah, so Arthur and Martin had a lovely time at the most exclusive chocolatier in London and gained what no other person Mycroft knew of had gained – a tour of the facilities.  Trust Arthur to completely charm the owner’s dragon-like daughter and win an incalculably valuable prize in addition to a king’s ransom in exquisitely-fine chocolate.  Mycroft also made a note that they _would_ be commissioned when the time came to pull together the threads for the wedding celebration.  Only the best for his family.  The fact that it was an excuse to feast rather decadently on his favorite chocolate was the barest of considerations.

      “What a grand time you must have enjoyed, in addition to many other adventures, I have no doubt.  And I am anxious to hear them all, however, I do believe I shall check on Gregory first and then step into the shower.  The night will be a long one, I’m afraid, and what better way to approach it than with a bit of rejuvenation?”

      “That’s very smart.  But, you’ll get a chance to watch a film with us, right?  Greg’s been hoping you’d get back in time to watch with us, not that he said anything, but his eyes kept shifting towards the door of his room or the clock and I knew what he was thinking.”

And that was what now made coming home a cherished event.

      “Of course I shall budget time for a film, dear boy.  Now, shall we say hello to Gregory?  Oh… and is John, perhaps, still present?”

      “Doctor Watson and Mr. Sherlock left about an hour ago, but Doctor Sam’s here and he’s been showing Skip how to beat Douglas at cards when we’re back home.”

Lovely.  Teaching Martin how to cheat at cards; such a noble man.

      “Good.  I shall need a moment of his time before we begin the rest of our entertainments.”

      “Well, you two can talk while I call for the pizza.  They know me now and we have a lovely time talking when I order.  Did you know Mr. Parker’s wife is the one who makes the pizza?  She won’t even let him help!  All he gets to do is take the orders and package them up.  But that’s ok, because she makes very good pizza and Mr. Parker thinks so, too.”

After a few more visits to London, Arthur would have made the acquaintance and earned the lifelong friendship of most everyone in London involved in retail or the food-service industry.

      “Good.  Very good.  Now, shall we?”

      “I think we shall.”

__________

      “Must you have your filthy feet on Gregory’s bed?”

      “Must you have your filthy mouth on Gregory’s… oh, Arthur’s with you… hand?”

      “Philistine.”

      “Curmudgeon.”

      “Mycroft, come over here and give your filthy mouth something more fun to do than argue with his reprobate.”

Mycroft ignored the huffy ‘and proud of it’ and strolled over to give his lover a kiss that warmed him like a long afternoon nap in the sunshine.

      “You seem in high spirits, Gregory.”

      “It’s been a good day.  Not a comfortable one all the time, but it had its perks.  Look!  Sam lowered the limit line on my lager so I get two extra sips.  That right there is worth calling the day a success.”

Mycroft shot a small scowl over to the doctor and swatted his feet onto the floor.      

      “Is it wise to increase Gregory’s alcohol consumption?”

      “Oh calm down Grandma.  It’s not like I gave him tequila.  I’m saving that for next week.”

A reminder of just who was paying the idiot man’s salary sat on the edge of Mycroft’s tongue and scurried quickly back down his throat.  A conversation that was supposed to have occurred this evening had now been avoided, but a more pressing and contentious one had risen to take its place.  For this, Gregory would _not_ be pleased.

      “Unfortunately, I can muster little doubt for that bit of malpractice.  However, I do have matters to discuss with you, so if you will accompany me…”

      “Since that doesn’t sound like any fun I’m going to say no.”

      “I shall override your vote and insist.”

      “The only thing you ride is the invalid, so don’t try and play smart with me.”

      “Can you be anything but unconscionably rude?”

      “I can be conscionably rude, if that helps.”

      “Oh, go with him Sam.  Mycroft’s not going to give up no matter what you do so you might as well get whatever he wants over with quickly.  Believe me, I learned that early on.”

      “Tell me about it.  You’re a wise man, Martin Crieff.  Far too wise to be part of that family.  What say I adopt you?  You’ll be Martin Harris and your initials will be MH so you can steal all that pompous prick’s monogrammed towels and hankies.”

      “Oh!  And you could steal Mr. Sherlock’s, not that stealing is a nice thing to do but we’re just playing a game, right?”

      “That we are, Arthur, so if I’m ever at John’s, I’ll go rooting around in His Boniness’s closet to see if anything suits my fancy.”

      “Brilliant!  Then, we could do a fancy dress party and everyone would have to come dressed as someone else we know!  Oh, I’m putting that on my list of parties I want to have now that I know how to have a party and know people who would actually come!”

      “What a delightful idea, Arthur.  Samuel, if you would do me the honor…”

      “Oh, you clenched your ass so hard with that I couldn’t have squeezed a credit card between your cheeks.”

      “NOW!”

      “Easy, cowboy… Martin, invalid duty.  Arthur, pizza duty.  Invalid, not dying duty.  I’ll be back and no one had better be ready for a court martial.”

Sam returned Arthur’s very enthusiastic salute and followed the highly-irritated Mycroft to his study.

      “If this is about the hooker I charged to your tab…”

      “For one simple conversation, can you shelve your naturally repugnant personality and behave in a mature fashion?”

      “It’ll make my colon hurt.”

      “A sacrifice I shall duly appreciate.  The matter we must discuss is not one for levity.”

Mycroft saw a quick flash in his adversary’s eyes and the side of his lip curl into a very angry snarl.

      “No.”

      “You have no idea the topic of…”

      “Yeah, I do.  It’s written all over you.  You’re straddling the line between wanting to strangle me and being terrified to piss me off and you wouldn’t do that unless you needed something from me.  And I can only think of one thing… so, no.”

      “Samuel…”

      “Maybe _fucking no_ is easier for you to understand.  _Suck my honey-covered cock no_ , if that works better.  No with a side of fries and a bottle of bourbon.  Or just the bourbon.  So thanks a bunch for dragging me in here for nothing.  I’ll be getting back to my patient now.”

Mycroft wondered how the man could send him directly back into the mindset of a child who would throw himself in front of a door to prevent someone from leaving and expect it to work.  Which, surprisingly, it did, since his archenemy stopped a few feet from Mycroft and simply glared with an intensity that made the Holmes brother decidedly uncomfortable.

      “I need you to listen to reason, Samuel.  Hear what I ask of you and learn that it is not as onerous as you might believe.”

      “Wow, two letters… N and O… and they can’t sink into that thick skull of yours.”

      “It is vital…”

      “I told you never again.”

      “I would not ask except…”

      “And I am not changing my mind.”

      “The importance of this…”

      “You can move out of my way or I can move you.  Your choice.”

      “If you do this, I won’t ask you for anything ever again.”

Both men looked a little embarrassed at that and a quick clearing of his throat brought Mycroft back, again, from childhood.

      “Will you not hear my proposal?  Not grant me even that courtesy?  It is not a difficult thing to simply allow me to present my case, is it?”

Some of the wind seemed to flow from Sam’s sails and Mycroft quickly snatched the opening to begin his pitch.

      “A breakfast.  Tomorrow morning.  That is all.   Again, it shall be an innocuous and mundane event, but it is the final piece to my work.  The _final_ piece.  And I did not offer your attendance, it was requested.  This is the sole chance I have to bring this matter fully to a close and if anything seems to be amiss, I can assure you that I will not learn what is necessary that I learn.  I will not be presented to those I need to meet or shown the evidence that shall lead to their downfall.  _Nothing_ must seem amiss, nothing must seem suspicious or insulting or awkward… it is a precious little thing I ask, Samuel, but it is supremely valuable to what I hope to achieve.  Please, Samuel.  I do not ask this lightly.”

Just as a nattering Sam could cause Mycroft’s brain to boil, apparently a humble Mycroft could temper Sam’s anger enough that his fists began to unclench and the harsh edges of his features softened until Mycroft no longer feared for the shape of his nose.

      “Breakfast.  That’s it?”

      “That is all.  Afterwards, I shall have further business to conduct, but the car will take you home.”

      “Time?”

      “Seven.”

      “You’ll have to call John and convince him to come back early.  He’s not due in until nine.”

      “I shall attend to that immediately.”

      “Alright.  I’ll go.  But first things first.  Come here and turn around.”

The shape of his nose suddenly became the least of Mycroft’s concerns.

      “Pardon me?”

      “Come here.  Turn around.  Do not move.”

      “I decline.”

      “Then I’m changing my mind.”

      “That is dishonorable!”

      “Sue me.  So… get to it.”

Was it at all feasible that a particularly lethal cosmic ray find its way to his adversary’s heart and explode it in his chest?  The odds were sufficiently low that Mycroft felt he had no choice but to comply with the fiend’s wishes.

      “There, I am now as you asked me and… urk.”

      “Ok, I feel better.”

      “From drawing the band of my pants up to my neck?”

      “It was better for you than what I wanted to do.  No one ever died from a wedgie but the alternative… believe me, you don’t want to know.  Now, I’m going to pretend I never touched your silky drawers and drown my sorrows in the last of my beer.  Join us when you’ve finished digging yourself free.”

Sam left a very shocked and uncomfortable Mycroft in his wake and waited until he closed the door to release his grin.  That boy needed a little of the unexpected in his life now and then… and if _he_ had to play spy again, then the unexpected could be _very_ unexpected to make up for it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my sincere gratitude for all of your support and encouragement!

      “You seem fatigued.”

      “I just did what amounts to a double shift and, even though I only had one patient and Mycroft gave me a break to sleep, it’s still a lot of work so, yes, I _am_ fatigued.”

At least, though he hadn’t been asked, Sam had arrived early to get the transition taken care of and the 221B contingent sent on their way at a very reasonable hour.  So reasonable, in fact, that there was time to make a stop to refill the cupboards and pick up something hot and filling to eat that John didn’t have to cook.  And the glass of wine with dinner was an every nicer perk that was just starting to wind its way through his system as his flatmate stood there scowling at him.

      “If you are going to be overworked by this arrangement, John…”

      “No… I’m not being overworked.  It’s part of the job sometimes.  And I’m just tired, not exhausted.  No worse than a full day of really being run off my feet at the clinic when the flu’s going around the city.”

Sherlock’s scowl intensified for a moment before his features shifted into what John recognized as his lover’s resolved-to-action face.

      “Come here.”

John found himself plucked out of his very cozy armchair and marched to the sofa where, after Sherlock stared at the piece of furniture for a moment, he was dropped onto it and had to suffer the wriggling of one very leggy detective as Sherlock situated himself between John’s back and the sofa cushions.

      “Is there a reason we’re sitting like we’re in a very small boat?”

      “You are tense.”

      “Uh… hadn’t really noticed.”

      ‘You are tense and I am going to correct that.”

      “How… oh… OH… that feels good.”

      “My fingers are quite strong from playing the violin.”

John leaned back into the fingers currently massaging his neck and shoulders and decided that he might never actually know the depths of Sherlock’s talents.  Which was perfectly fine by him.

      “Ummmmm…”

      “I have noticed that you hum when you find something pleasing.”

      “Sometimes.  It’s not intentional, it just happens.”

      “That is why I use it as a criteria for when you are truly pleased and not simply humoring my attempts at making you happy.”

      “I think I’m pretty good about being honest with you about whether or not I’m happy, actually.”

      “Often, but not always.  You still are reticent to broach areas where you feel I will take personal offense or involve my… departure.”

John had to admit that there were certain things he danced around, but it was for both his peace of mind _and_ his partner’s.

      “Ok, you’re not entirely wrong.  But that’s normal, Sherlock.  It’s part of a relationship that you think about how the other person will react to what you have to say.  If you think it will hurt them more than it will impact you, maybe you hold off awhile until there’s a better time to talk.  Not all moments are right for all conversations.”

      “Timing?”

      “Exactly.  Let’s say you made me a birthday cake and…”

      “I am not likely to do that.”

      “I know, but imagine it anyway.  I take a bite and it’s not really that good.  Do I tell you that?  No.  You worked hard and wanted to do something nice and I don’t put a big hole in your heart by telling you I didn’t like it.  I’d wait for another day and ask about how you made it and maybe make some suggestions or maybe I don’t even bring it up at all.  It’s not important that I have lousy cake once a year, but it _is_ important that you went to all of that trouble because you cared.”

      “You weigh the situation and determine cost vs. benefit.”

      “Sort of like that, yes.  If it was something more critical or something I lived with every day, then there’d be no question I’d speak up.  I’d just try to do it in the kindest possible way.”

      “That is a great deal of effort simply to safeguard someone’s feelings.”

      “Yes it is, and worth every bit of it when you care about that person.”

      “I see your point.  Fortunately, I am quite content that we are monogamous because I do not believe I would care to be so considerate to more than one person at a time.  Even one person at _any_ time is sufficiently challenging.”

      “Well then, lucky me.   Especially if you keep on with your hands like that.”

      “Your muscles _are_ loosening quite significantly.”

      “Maybe I was carrying more stress than I thought.”

      “Then I believe it is my responsibility to help alleviate your stress.”

      “What do you mean?  Oh….”

The very warm lips trailing down John’s neck told him exactly what Sherlock meant and Sherlock had to smile feeling the doctor relax even further.  John responded so quickly and readily to his touch… there was a very primal satisfaction that always curled pleasantly in the detective’s stomach when he touched John like this.  He could make the doctor sigh or moan, tremble or writhe and all of it was good.  All of it said he was making John happy and that was a powerful feeling.  _He_ had the ability to do this to someone like John and, if he said so himself, do it well.  And, while, it was not possible for a human to physically purr, but John was doing a very good impression nonetheless.

      “Yeah, that’s working nicely.”

      “It is rarely to your benefit to argue with me on matters such as your level of tension because I will undoubtedly be placed in the position of having to prove you wrong.”

      “Well, if it always goes like this, you won’t hear any complaints from me.”

But Sherlock wanted to hear something more from John and ran his hands under John’s shirt to begin the experiment of what sounds he could elicit from the other musical instrument in his life.

      “Oh, you bastard, you know… how do you always know just where… oh, that’s just not fair…”

Every word punctuated with a tiny noise that blended into what was already Sherlock’s favorite composition.  _John in Love_ was something he would never tire of playing, just as he would never get tired of tasting John’s skin or feeling the textures of his body.  And sometimes, only sometimes because John was somewhat adamant that intimate contact be reciprocated, John would allow him to simply do this.  Touch and taste and hear and smell and fill his senses with nothing but his lover’s data, doing whatever he wanted to experience John in every _way_ he wanted, learning everything about his John so he could give him all possible forms of pleasure.  Because that was _his_ greatest pleasure, all of the physical sensations he enjoyed at John’s hands paled in comparison to the ecstasy of doing this to John.

      “You keep doing that and I won’t be relaxed anymore.”

      “I find my original plan no longer suits my desires.  Other interests are, I believe, rising.”

      “You… oh, do that again… and you’re getting good with innuendo.”

      “Is that all at which I am getting good?”

      “No, you… how’d you get my trousers undone, oh who cares… no, you’re defi…definitely good at lots of things… christ, when’d you learn th…that with your thumb…”

      “I observe, I analyze, evaluate… for example, if I apply a small twist, like this…”

      “Oh, you bastard…”

      “I receive that reaction, so, of course, I do it again…”

      “Sherlock…”

      “And your body arches very nicely into my grip, which allows me easier to access a little lower, where I have found you enjoy an amount of squeezing pressure equal to about… this.”

      “That’s good… that’s very good…”

      “Oh, I know.  And how lucky I have long fingers so I can rub just a bit lower still and… oh, you do tremble nicely when you are aroused.”

      “Please, Sherlock…”

      “Ah, the non-specific please… something I do treasure hearing from you.  Perhaps a little reward?  You did like it when I did this, correct… oh, it seems you do if that lovely moan is telling a true tale.”

      “Just a little more…”

      “Hmmm… but I don’t know if I’m ready to give you a little more yet.”

      “Please… just a bit more, oh!  like that, yes…”

      “Are you certain you’d not like me to take a more leisurely approach?’

      “W…want to keep your teeth?”

      “Prickly.  But I love you even when you’re demanding.”

      “L…love you, too.  Yes, just a little faster…”

      “Whatever you want, John.  I am always happy to give you whatever you want.  Even when… ah, there… you are truly beautiful when you release, John… far more than you can imagine… even when you leave me with such a terrible mess to deal with.”

      “You…your fault.”

      “Yes, you do blame me for all the messes in the flat, don’t you?”

      “And I’m usually right.”

      “Debatable, but…”

The mobile in Sherlock’s pocket sounded and John smirked at Sherlock’s groan of frustration.

      “John, you’re hands are cleaner than mine.”

      “So much for the afterglow.”

John turned and rummaged through Sherlock’s pocket to get the phone and wasn’t surprised to see Mycroft’s name on the caller id.

      “Good timing, Mycroft.  A few seconds earlier and you’d have gotten an earful that would have probably caused your suit to catch fire.”

      “What a ghastly way to say hello, John.  Do work on your social skills.”

      “I’ll put that on my list.  So, what do you want?  Is there something wrong with Greg?”

      “No… not at all.  I simply have a request that you arrive tomorrow at an hour earlier than was previously agreed upon.”

      “What?  Mycroft, I’ve just done extra…”

      “I am aware, John and I know that it is an inconvenience, but I am afraid I need Samuel tomorrow morning for a small operation and it is not something I can avoid.  I shall see that you receive compensation for the additional time that you have worked.”

      “And Sam agreed to this?  Having another go at playing James Bond?”

      “He did… after some negotiation.”

      “I’m still surprised.  You should be proud of yourself, Sam does _not_ give in easily.”

      “There was little ease involved, I assure you.  Can I count on your assistance?”

      “Yeah, I’ll be there.  What time?”

      “If you could arrive at 6:00 am that would allow time for you and Samuel to discuss Gregory’s night before we leave.  We are expected at 7:00 am, but I would hope to arrive a little early.”

      “And I bet you’ve already calculated just how many minutes early it would best for you to arrive, right?”

      “Really, John… I am not going to disclose to you the scope of my planning.”

      “Ok, Mr. Obsessive-Compulsive, you keep your secrets to yourself.  And there’d better be food waiting when I get there, because I’m not waking up extra early to cook breakfast for myself.”

      “Of course.  Until tomorrow, John.”

      “Yeah, see you in the morning.”

John didn’t have to look back to know his partner was glaring at him.

      “You should not acquiesce so easily to Mycroft’s ridiculous demands.”

      “Hey, it’s called doing a mate a favor.”

      “Since when is Mycroft your ‘mate?’ “

      “I inherited him when he paired up with Greg.  And since Mycroft’s basically asked… ok, time to get your hands wiped off.”

      “Whereas your medical compatriot may have some skill for dissembling, you are pitifully poor at any form of hiding information.  Complete your original sentence.”

      “Forgot what I was saying.  Now, how about a bit of telly?”

      “I will give you one more warning before I implement extreme measures.”

      “I think I might actually like finding out what that means, however, if I tell you that you don’t want to know, can we just leave it at that?”

      “Hello, I’m Sherlock Holmes, Apparently we’ve never met.”

      “Bastard.  Look, it’s a personal thing between the two of them.”

      “No, because the information has been divulged to a third-party, therefore the ‘between the two of them’ portion of your argument is invalid.”

      “You really don’t want this in your head, Sherlock.  Not yet, at least.”

      “Time will not change the impact of your little secret on my head.”

      “Do you promise not to say anything?”

      “No.”

      “Then forget it.  I’ll not have you making things uncomfortable for them.  And me.”

      “Then I agree.”

      “You’re lying and not bothering to even hide the fact you’re lying, which is actually pretty insulting.”

      “It is because this is supremely juvenile.  I’ll not enter into some schoolboy pact…”

      “Then you’re not finding out.  And it’s juicy.”

      “Juicy?”

      “Very.  Too bad you can’t even trust yourself not to blab it out…”

      “What!  I have complete control over my conversations.  If I decide not to make information known, it is carried with me to the grave.”

      “Then this shouldn’t be difficult for you.  Promise.”

      “Very well.  I promise and I am sincere in that promise.”

      “Fine.  Mycroft, in a very roundabout and altogether non-committing way, asked Greg to marry him.”

John bet it would be at least five seconds before Sherlock made any response and was starting to worry when the ten-second mark passed without a form of comment.

      “Sherlock?”

      “Are you certain?”

      “Got it straight from Greg.  Now, there’s not been any real proposal, so don’t worry they’re beating your cousin to the altar, but Mycroft let Greg know that he was at least thinking about asking.  Sometime in the future.  When they’re both ready.”

      “Mycroft?”

      “That is your brother’s name, right?  Didn’t say it wrong, did I?”

      “Are you certain?”

      “You said that already.  I am now officially convinced that you have zero control over your conversations.”

      “Mycroft and Lestrade?”

      “They’re together, Sherlock… it can’t be that surprising that they’d think about marriage at some point, is it?”

      “I… I had not factored that particular avenue into my calculations.”

      “I don’t see why not; it’s not that much of a change.  I mean they’re going to be living together and they do love each other.  Putting their names on a piece of paper and rings on their fingers isn’t really a big difference.”

      “It _is_ a large difference, John.  It is binding.  Final.”

      “Getting a little dramatic aren’t you?  I mean, getting a divorce isn’t exactly difficult.”

      “Mycroft would never divorce.  It is… not his way.  He would never marry unless he was absolutely certain that he would never want a divorce.”

      “Ok, I’m still a bit in the dark.  You already knew how he felt about Greg…”

      “I… I still would not have predicted this from Mycroft.”

Sherlock’s voice had lost its normal timbre and John’s concern was rising hearing the near-confusion that was clouding his lover’s words.

      “Sherlock… what’s wrong?  And, don’t try and avoid the question, I’m actually starting to worry here.  Do you… you’re not worried about them, are you?  I mean… I know Mycroft pulled some shady things in the past and from what you say his love life hasn’t exactly been known for anything serious, but…”

      “It is not that, John.  Despite everything, I no longer harbor doubts about Mycroft’s intentions toward nor feelings for Lestrade.  I am still not entirely convinced he can bring to Lestrade the emotional component of their relationship that Lestrade will require, but I must admit that I believe Mycroft will try to do his best, as pathetic that might be.”

      “Then what?  I expected you to yell, laugh, say nasty and sarcastic things, be indifferent… not act like you’ve… gotten bad news.”

John realized that they were still very sticky from the evening’s activities, but couldn’t bring himself to break away from Sherlock long enough to do anything about it.  Not when his partner was so obviously shaken.

      “Sherlock… please.”

      “It is… clichéd, John.  A story told a hundred times with the same ending for each.  An unhappy marriage that could never dissolve, so the participants were bound in their misery without any hope for the proverbial happily ever after.”

      “Your parents?”

      “Yes.  Their union was only as agreeable as the number of rooms they kept between themselves when at home.”

      “They weren’t… there wasn’t any violence, was there?”

      “No, their weapon of choice was silence, which is a fairly benign weapon if the full catalog of possibilities is examined.”

      “How’d they… you and Mycroft must have had it hard.”

      “I would not agree with that, actually.  Though their affection for each other had long grown cold, they were pleasant enough towards us.  Mycroft, perhaps, remembers more than do I… Father died when I was eight.”

Sherlock never spoke of his childhood, which was one of the reasons the revelations about Martin had impacted John so harshly.  Any bit of information, even that which was unpleasant, was ridiculously valuable and John hoarded each piece fiercely.

      “And that’s why you thought Mycroft would never marry anyone.  He wouldn’t want to run the risk of having that happen to him.  Get stuck in a bad marriage, wasting his life on someone he didn’t love anymore and who didn’t love him?”

      “It is not an unreasonable assumption.”

      “No… not at all.  Some people react that way, I’m sure.  Others… well, I guess others do what Mycroft’s done before, have a line of meaningless affairs that keep the body happy and don’t come with any strings attached.”

      “Do not elevate his tawdry past with psychology.”

      “God forbid the man actually behaves as expected because of a difficult childhood.”

      “Mycroft does nothing as expected.  He is an amoral seeker of what best suits his needs… however, he has shown at least some ability to exempt one person from his unsavory ways.”

      “I think he’d pass out from such a compliment.”

      “You’d need a crane to lift him back up again.”

      “There’s the Sherlock I know and love.  Do you object, though, to the idea?  If he did ask Greg?”

      “Their business is their own.”

      “Bollocks.  Honesty, please.”

Sherlock drew in a deep breath and John waited patiently as the detective sorted out what he wanted to say.

      “In truth… I have not processed the situation fully.  However, given the circumstances… if there is a person who could give my brother a marriage that would be a happy one, it would be Lestrade.  You don’t know… my brother does love him.  Loves him deeply and I… I would once never have thought it, but now I know that his love is a consuming one.  Not a love likely to fade.  And Lestrade’s mind on the subject is in no way camouflaged.  If they choose to make their relationship formal, I would have no objection.  However, if they expect me to do anything associated with the accompanying ceremony, they are sadly mistaken.”

      “No ring boy job for you?”

      “They _would_ be expensive rings, if I know my brother.  Being charged with them would give me the opportunity to sprint to a pawnbroker…”

      “You are a bad, bad man, Sherlock Holmes.”

      “Would you have me any other way?”

      “Not on your life.  Now, let’s get us cleaned up.  I’ve got an early morning, so I’ll need to get to bed at a reasonable hour.”

      “Is ‘getting to bed’ necessarily synonymous with sleeping.”

      “Randy bastard.  And, before you ask, I still wouldn’t have you any other way.”

__________

Mycroft worked throughout the night making the necessary arrangements for his breakfast date.  The level of surveillance would be the highest possible.  Every microsecond of this meeting would be captured in multiple formats and from multiple sources.  With irrefutable evidence and all high-level participants caught in their trap, the remaining dissolution of this abhorrent business would proceed smoothly and swiftly.  Already resources were in place to return the children they could locate to their families or, if that was not possible, find appropriate foster care until they reached their majority where a legitimate job would be found for them.  The flow of information and opportunities for coercion halted.  It was done.  Closed.  A part of the past never to be revisited.  There would be other harsh activities in the future, lies he would tell… uncountable lies… but none towards his Gregory.  It would be part of their life that he would often have to simply say he could not discuss a matter and he had confidence that his Detective Inspector would be able to withstand what others might find insulting or standoffish.  What he would _not_ do was lie to Gregory or fabricate a story to cover the truth.  It would _be_ the truth or nothing, at least so far as his work was concerned.  As for their personal lives… well, every couple told the occasional fib and there was no shame in that.  Gregory was already showing a great talent for untruths when he was asked about his condition, for example.

      “You are not _fine_ , Gregory.  If you bite any harder, you shall sever your lip.”

      “ ‘m fine.”

      “Samuel, would you agree that Gregory is failing to speak truthfully?”

      “Oh sure, he’s lying through his teeth.  But it makes him feel manlier, so I let him get away with it.”

      “Ah, so this is an issue of masculinity.”

      “Yep, suffer with a smile to show his prospective mate how strong and virile he is.  Of course if he does bite off his lip, blowjobs aren’t going to be a lot of fun for you.  Not easy to suck half-lipless, so you might compliment the size of his balls or something to get him to let go.”

      “Of course.  Your testicles are both robust and rotund, my dear.  Now kindly release your lip so you do not impede our future intimate encounters.”

And, as predicted, his Gregory had to unclench his jaw to let out the laughter.

      “Not fair!  Ganging up on a man when he can’t fight back.”

      “Your brain’s not damaged, invalid.  If you had a comeback you could have flung it, but your little puppy-like mind just isn’t up to the job.  Now, toss a bone and I bet you have lots of good things to say.”

      “I’m a dog!  I’ve been relegated to a basket by the hearth and having to take a piss against a tree.  Hope you’re both happy.”

      “I always wanted a dog as a boy, so I believe that whether you sleep in my bed or your basket, I shall be content.”

      “Better not put my breakfast in a bowl or I will drink out of the toilet before I kiss you.”

      “Curses.  I am foiled in my endeavors by my aversion to household pathogens.  How easily the mighty fall.”

      “Ok, you two are just sickening.  I’m going to rustle up some coffee so I can stay awake for this breakfast thing.  Too bad Arthur’s not puttering around or I could get some of the jet fuel he siphons out of his plane and serves _as_ coffee.  That stuff gets you going in more ways than one.  Never been so regular in my life.  While I’m gone, take it easy and try not to do anything I wouldn’t do.  Wait, that’s not actually possible, so just try and behave and not tear any more of the invalid’s embroidery.  I’ll be back in a minute.”

Sam gave Mycroft a look that the older Holmes interpreted very easily.  They had Lestrade sitting up in the bed again and had been doing a few small exercises with his arms that were making his chest ache and the message was clear - his lover was hurting, it wasn’t unexpected, show concern, but do not emasculate him with overly-protective behavior.  It was infuriating how the doctor would be completely opaque one moment and crystal clear in the next.  Not a skill Mycroft appreciated in anyone but himself.

      “Want to take advantage of my robust and rotunds now that we’ve got a moment alone?”

      “Gregory Lestrade, you are a lecherous man.  I fear for my own body parts when you are finally released from your bed.”

      “As well you should.  I’ve got grand plans for them.  Whole list in my head and I plan on starting with Number 1 and working my way down.”

      “Oh my, I do find the proper following of a prepared list terribly arousing.”

      “Then you’d better not come to the shops with me because I’m a firm list-follower.  Don’t need you molesting me near the produce and getting us both banned for life.”

      “Then we rely upon grocery delivery.  Problem solved.”

      “You’re good at that, you know.  Problem, please meet solution.  And that’s what this morning is, right?  The solution part?”

Mycroft took a moment to rub Lestrade’s thigh and give him a smile he actually felt.

      “Yes.  This will be the solution.  Tomorrow, there will be another item to attend to, another crisis to avert, another situation to manage… but this one will no longer occupy my attention.”

      “Then we should celebrate!  Not that I can do much to celebrate, but what I lack in body I make up in spirit.”

      “Hmmmm… I shall give the matter some thought.  Perhaps I can find a way to comply with your request.”

      “Yeah!  Think you can find a way for us to do a little dancing?”

Mycroft’s moments dancing with his Gregory were some of his most cherished memories…

      “I regret that we shall have to postpone that particular exercise, though, if you wish, I can follow Arthur’s example and have our namesakes waltz the evening away.”

      “HAH!  He did a great job with those bears, didn’t he?  I tell you, I envy him.  Does what makes him happy, no matter what other people might think.  Never tries to hide who he is… wish I was that brave.”

      “Oh… and what are you hiding?”

      “What?  No, I don’t mean it like that.  I meant… well, we all try to present ourselves a little differently than we actually are, don’t we?  Maybe we’re a bit worried what people would think if they knew the real us.  How many people might want to just talk to everyone they meet or go make bears or wear their favorite colors even if nature never meant to put them together in one place, but they never do it.  Say what you want to say even if other people might think they’re daft or silly… it’s something to admire if you can do it.”

      “Our dear Arthur is truly a special person.  However, I would hope that you would freely do such things when we are together.  I would know the real Gregory Lestrade, in every colorful and garrulous detail.”

      “And you?  You going to peel back the layers and let me see what’s underneath?”

One day, in his best suit, Gregory would get his chance to peel away each and every layer and it would be something they would both greatly enjoy.

      “I do applaud your use of imagery, my dear and I can divulge that you have already accomplished that to a greater degree than any other individual.  I offer you my assurance that I shall allow you to peel at will; I only hope you are satisfied with what you find.”

      “I’m not worried.  I’ll like it.  I’ll love it, actually, even if it makes me screaming angry sometimes or I don’t fully understand it all.  As long as I know it’s real, it won’t be a crippling problem.”

And more reason, not that any was needed, why Mycroft was certain he had given his heart to the right person.

      “Then we have an accord.  Now, shall we indulge in a few more of you exercises?”

      “What?  NO!  Doctor Evil isn’t here, so just let me be a layabout.”

      “But Samuel was quite adamant that motion would assist with your breathing and circulation.  A few more repetitions would be possible, do you think?  If you perform them now, then perhaps John will not have you repeat them until the afternoon.”

      “Going at me with your logic and tactics again.  You know I’m putty in your hands when you tickle me with tactics.”

      “Something I shall gladly remember for the future.  Now lift your arms as high as you can…”

__________

      “This is the ugliest thing you could have picked out for me to wear.  How am I supposed to wow the crowd looking like a librarian?”

      “Conservative is not an inappropriate presentation for this morning’s gathering.  We are not going to a club, you realize.”

      “This is brown.  You know what else is brown?  Shit and mud.  Doesn’t sell me as a color for high fashion.”

      “Drawing attention to yourself might be a personal obsession, however, it is not a critical feature for our objective.”

      “Your objective.  _Your_.  Do not pull me under your pretentious umbrella.”

      “Pretentious, indeed.  My umbrella is decidedly tasteful.”

      “Know who else carries an umbrella?  That Poirot guy on TV.  Fits, I guess.  You’re both prissy little busybodies that makes everyone around you want to take a swing except they’re worried they’ll catch a case of the prissies if they make contact.”

      “And I believe that Monsieur Poirot is both highly successful in his work and has at his side a prominent law enforcement official.  One _could_ draw parallels.”

      “Yeah, but Japp wasn’t bending over his desk to take it from his Belgian buddy.  At least I don’t think he was.  I always thought Poirot would be going at it with Miss Lemon.  Or maybe Captain Hastings.  Or both.  I mean, were they living together or what?”

      “How easily you defile everything that crosses your mind.”

      “It’s a talent.  Give me any prompt and I’ll make it X-rated in ten words or less.”

      “That shall make lovely breakfast conversation.  Already I can see my efforts crumbling around my ears.”

      “Oh calm down, Skinny.  I didn’t screw up your cocktail party, did I?  And I won’t screw this up either because the faster we get this over with, the faster I can get out of my shit suit and my patient can begin to relax.”

      “Gregory… he still has doubts?”

      “No, Captain Insecurity.  He worries.  About you.  And that’s not going to change.  Just as you’re going to worry about him when he returns to work.  You know it’ll be an issue.  He’ll have a dangerous case and you’re going to want to forbid him to work on it.  He’ll know you’ve got a nasty job to do and he’ll want to tell you to leave it alone.  And neither of you’ll go ahead with what you want to do and you’ll just say an extra prayer that someone’s looking out for your partner so they’ll come home safe.  Yeah, I know, this is supposed to be a simple breakfast, but you don’t spend an entire night planning for a trip to get pancakes.  You’ve hoping to close the net, aren’t you?  And, like anything, it just might not go as smoothly as planned.”

Doctor Evil was truly a most appropriate name.  Mycroft had hoped _that_ particular connection would not be made, but it seemed that the evil doctor was, again, not one to underestimate.

      “It is not my intention to cause any disturbance at the breakfast proper.  As I stated previously, there shall be an epilogue to our meal that will provide further information I require and that would be the time to take any action I might be planning.  You shall not be involved, if that is your worry.”

      “As if I’d worry about those idiots.  You’ve never seen me in action, but let me tell you… I am a fighting machine.  Take all of them apart with one hand tied behind my back.  I’ll do it standing on one foot.  Just leave me my pinkie and one tooth, stand back and watch the tsunami hit.”

Evil and delusional… the most dangerous of combinations.

      “When you are quite through self-aggrandizing, may we leave?  I trust John has been fully briefed on Gregory’s progress?”

      “Yeah, he’s up to speed.  Sherlock will be by later to visit with Greg and I think he may be going with Martin and Arthur for part of the day.  Something about visiting a friend at the morgue, though it’ll have to be somewhere else because I can’t picture Arthur getting within a thousand fucking yards of a morgue.”

      “Ah, Sherlock must need something unusual if he is bringing Martin and Arthur along to cover the true purpose of his visit.”

      “Sneaky and conniving.  A boy after my own heart.”

      “Thus my dedication to avoiding you both at all costs.”

      “You can’t hide your love, Skinny.  It shines like a firefly’s butt.”

      “If I offer you cyanide, would you be so good as to drink it?”

      “Mix it into a Mai Tai and we’ll talk.”

      “Excellent, I shall order the supplies.  Now, shall we?”

      “Fine, but keep your hands to yourself.”

      “You are not in the least attractive.”

      “Oh man, this op of yours is going to go south fast if you’ve gone blind and stupid all of a sudden.”

      “When Gregory is ready, I shall take great pleasure in sacking you.”

      “Yada yada yada… sack me whenever you like.  I know where you live and I have the names of a hundred different sex toy catalogs to start shipping really raunchy items to your door.”

      “Oh… Gregory would likely appreciate input in which items you choose.  I think he would enjoy the building of private treasure chest.”

      “Liar, you’re the toy boy, boy toy.  And don’t try to hide it.”

      “You are quite mistaken.”

      “Come on, you can tell me.  Vibrators?  Dildos?  Butt plugs?  Nipple clamps?  Handcuffs?  Ball gags?”

      “Are you quite done?”

      “All of the above it is.  Ok, guess I know what’ll go into Greg’s Get Well basket besides fruit and balloons.”

      “I shall never attempt a jest with you again.”

      “That’s probably smart.  My mouth hasn't had a functional off switch in years.”

      “Really, I would never have guessed.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Breakfast!

      “And why not?”

      “Because you are as insane as a rabid badger.”

      “That’s pretty good, Skinny.  And not necessarily untrue, but _not_ good enough for me not to carry a piece.”

Having to share a vehicle with Samuel Harris was now at the top of Mycroft’s list of activities he would rather take his own life than repeat.

      “Can you at least speak the Queen’s English?”

      “Not my queen, if you remember.  You prefer heater?  Gat?  Roscoe?”

      “Dearest Gregory will be thrilled to know you share his taste in sordid detective tales.”

      “Oh, we’re already started hoeing that row.  Got into a fistfight the other night about Dashiell Hammett vs. Raymond Chandler.  We’ve got other cage matches lined up for next week, too.  I can’t wait for Nero Wolfe vs. Charlie Chan.  I am going to kick his ass…”

      “Kindly ameliorate you kick… he is still quite vulnerable to attack, you know.”

      “That’s asking a lot, but I’ll try.  We might have to wage a pinching war, instead.  I’ll make sure my inevitable victory looks like you and he had a lengthy roll in the hay instead. Shit, he’ll be _proud_ to show off his bruises.  Another thing to add to my bill.”

Which had still never been negotiated.  Mycroft wondered if his mind purposefully cloistered away thoughts of parting with monies for the enrichment of the capering fool sitting next to him, because the idea slipped from his mind as easily as if it were an oiled banana.

      “I shall have accounting make a note.  Now, we should discuss the…”

      “Nope.  I’m all about the improv.”

      “I cannot have your inane prattle derailing…”

      “I used to put pennies on the railroad tracks.  They say that can derail a train, but it never actually happened.  All I got was a lot of really flat pennies.”

      “Why I am experiencing little surprise that you would willingly risk a catastrophic train accident for the sake of a scrap of hammered copper?”

      “Because we’re developing a bond.  A karmic connection.  It’s to be expected.  I’m a magnetic kind of guy.”

      “I do believe I am now completely put off my breakfast.”

      “I’ll eat your share; I’m frickin’ starving.  I’ll say you’ve got a bad case of runny butt and have to watch out for extra grease and fiber.”

      “Which will compromise your perceived medical competence because surely you would have affected some remedy by this point.”

      “Ha!  You’re right… you’re getting better at this.  Now if I can just get you to shorten that to ‘well, that makes you look like a shitty sawbones, doesn’t it?’ we’ll be golden.”

      “Highly unlikely, but you are welcome to hope.”

      “Same as with my gun.  You suck, Mycroft Holmes.  All I want is a teeny-tiny .45 to carry under this ugly jacket and you just can’t be a pal and let me have it.  Just see if I do _you_ any favors.”

The thought of asking a favor of this bridge troll, beyond the number he had already begged, was appalling.  The only favor Mycroft wanted was for the doctor to take with him every molecule of his personal contamination when he left Gregory’s side each day.

      “Then I shall ease your life by asking for none.  However, please do try and remember the purpose and importance of this morning.  Whereas you only have to enjoy what will likely be a bountiful and pleasing meal, I must devote my attention to other things and would rather not have to assign a portion of said attention to being your child minder.”

      “I’m too old to need a babysitter!  And you can’t make me go to bed if I don’t want to!  Why can’t I watch the tittie movie?  Mom lets me eat candy for dinner!  I hate bathtime!...”

      “ARE you quite done?”

      “Well, _now_ I am.  You broke my stride.”

      “Samuel…”

      “Dammit, Skinny!  I am _not_ going to take an axe to your meeting!  If you can’t tell the difference between getting your chain yanked and a real problem then I have to wonder if your mind is really in the right place _for_ this game today.”

Mycroft readied a scathing retort for the insufferable American’s insult, but felt it die in his mouth.  It _was_ a reasonable concern… idiotic man.

      “It is that I am not entirely certain you shall be cognizant of the repercussions of what you believe are harmless jests and inadvertently cause offense or distract me at an inopportune moment.”

      “Lot of words to say you’re not sure if _I_ even know if I’m going over the top, but I won’t say you’re completely fucked in the head about that.  So, I’ll agree to think twice before I launch into a ramble and you agree to acknowledge that the last thing I want to do is to cause this op to fail.”

 It was an unsure thing as to which was more infuriating – an unreasonable Samuel or a reasonable one.  But, his treaty proposal was acceptable as delivered and Mycroft gave a little nod that he would comply.  On one condition.

      “Very well, but you will never use the term ‘op’ in my presence again.”

      “No gun, no spy lingo.  Do you suck the fun out of _everything_ or is this just a special occasion?”

Perhaps eating lightly at breakfast _was_ a prudent decision.

__________

As the car arrived at the upscale address he’d been given, Mycroft ran an eye over the environment noting the various subtle changes that had been affected on his order.  Nothing another eye would notice, but they were glaringly obvious to him.  And he didn’t need to see the bodies that were waiting for his instructions, in fact, if he _had_ seen them, they would have found themselves without employment by nightfall.  But they _were_ there, awaiting a signal that their presence was required to move matters along.  They might not be needed, but preparedness was a better weapon than any firearm.

      “Done daydreaming?”

      “Simply ascertaining that my directives had been carried out properly.”

      “Oh good.  Then how about ascertaining your ass out of the car so we can get this show on the road?  My legs are cramped in this puny vehicle.”

      “Might I make note of the fact that you are nearly reclining and that your legs are scarcely bent, let alone cramped.”

      “Make all the notes you want, so long as you make them getting out of the car.”

      “Could you perhaps take a more affectionate attitude for the purposes of this breakfast?  With your manner of dialogue, it will be difficult to convince anyone we have yet to meet that we are attached in any fashion.”

      “Wrong.  It is _because_ of my manner of dialogue that they’ll think we’re nearly at the altar.  First, remember who here was actually married and second, you should hear yourself and the invalid sometimes.  It’s like you’ve been together for fifty years.  That’s how I know it’s true love. Just so you know, I’m buying you a fondue set for your bridal shower.”

Hmmmm… there was meat to the bone of that idea.  Mycroft greatly adored the teasing banter between himself and his partner and had to admit that it was a characteristic of other successful relationships he had witnessed.  Not that his assessment would be shared with certain large and misshapen ears.

      “Oh, you’re so cute when you know I’m right and you’d rather chew off your own foot than say it.  That’s ok… couples do that, too.  So, and this is me saying it nicely, get the fuck out of this car before I tear off your head and shit down your neck.”

Mycroft’s ‘you are aware that is anatomical nonsense’ was muttered as he stepped out of the car and he had to worry a moment that he’d said something inflammatory as he felt hands around his throat.

      “Calm down, Skinny.  You know we’re being watched and it’s perfectly natural that I’d stop to fix my sugar daddy’s tie so he looks his best before meeting his new friends.  You got a hidden camera or anything that I should watch out for.”

Mycroft suffered his tie being straightened, his lapel smoothed and his vest tugged before his nemesis took a step back and smiled.

      “Are all Americans as obsessed with the perceived nature of espionage work as a gadget-laden occupation?”

      “Yep, so where is it?”

The locations of the various surveillance devices currently residing on Mycroft’s person were of no business to anyone but himself.  If revealed, the imbecile would likely wave and make foolish faces at them.

      “I believe there is an expression, something to the effect of, that is for me to know and you to find out?”

      “Have it your way, but if you wind up sitting down wrong, don’t come looking to me to dig the microphone out of your butt.”

      “Already my head is throbbing…”

      “Oh man up.  Just wait until you see me good and cocked… that’s when I really get rolling.  Hey, any chance of a mimosa at this shindig?”

Not if Mycroft could drink them all first.  And, at this rate, he might.

__________

      “Mycroft, Samuel!  How good of you to join us.  Please come in.”

Ashworth had answered the door himself, Mycroft noted, though a house this size and a man of his ego likely had servants to perform such menial tasks.  In the background, there were a number of voices, both male and female and the obvious smell of food was in the air.  So far, the setting seemed to support the notion of a simple collegial breakfast, and any lingering worries about the nature of the early part of the gathering were somewhat dispelled.

      “You’ve got a real nice place here, Don.  I prefer things a little more modern.  And… is that an Avedisian?  I don’t run into his pieces very often.”

      “Very good!  It amazes me how few people recognize his work anymore.”

      “Well, it amazes me how few people recognize _any_ artist’s work anymore.  Culture’s gone straight to the dogs.  But, maybe continued ignorance will drive prices down so poor folks like me can actually afford an original canvas now and then.”

      “Oh, I would doubt that Mycroft would deny you a little present if you asked.”

      “Yeah, but what I’d have to do to get it… I’d have to start taking yoga classes.”

      “Samuel, you are a truly a soul after my own heart.  I do have a few other pieces that might interest you, if you would care to see them?”

      “I’d love to!  Food for the eyes is as delicious as food for the stomach.”

Mycroft noticed, with some grudging admiration, that the doctor had steered their host into a conversation that absorbed him, giving the elder Holmes further time to survey his surroundings and affect a few covert tests of his surveillance equipment, which had not, as expected, been detected by the quite noticeable anti-surveillance equipment in the house.  For the next several minutes, they roamed the building stopping here and there to view a painting or sculpture, all of which his escort discussed with rather alarming expertise.  When they finally arrived in the dining room, it was not surprising that their host was chided by his wife for monopolizing their guests.

      “Donald, how rude of you.  I hope you were not discussing business; you _did_ promise.”

      “Not at all.  I was just showing our art collection to our new guests.  Samuel is quite the aficionado of the modern masters.  And I presume I should make the introductions… my dear, may I present Mycroft Holmes and Dr. Samuel Harris.  Gentlemen, my wife, Ruth.”

      “Thank you very much for welcoming us into your home, Mrs. Ashworth.  Samuel and I have been looking very forward to this morning.”

      “The pleasure is ours.  Now, please come in and meet the others.  Oh, and Dr. Harris, I had wanted to speak to you a moment about…”

Mycroft watched the doctor be escorted away by their hostess, leaving him alone with Ashworth, who was chuckling at their departure.

      “She would have him occupied all day if it were possible.  Quite the hypochondriac, but a lovely woman, all the same.”

      “I must agree; you are a fortunate man.  And Samuel will gladly take to being occupied.  There is little he enjoys more than the sound of his own voice.”

      “Yet, under his cheeky veneer is a very intelligent and perceptive man.  You are _also_ very fortunate.  He is a far better match for you than that child Edgar.  Though how you will manage two _companions_ once your policeman is recovered is quite beyond me.  He also seems a worthy fellow, from what I have learned.  Dedicated, hard-working, caring… such a happy and diverse home you maintain.”

Knowing the vulgar images circulating in the man’s mind, it was all Mycroft could do not to shudder in disgust.

      “One does try.  Gregory and Samuel are exceedingly devoted to each other, as well, so our home life _is_ very harmonious.”

The purchase of a tongue scraper would be necessary before he returned home to remove any trace of those words from his mouth.

      “Good.  Really, there is nothing better than a pleasant home to return to in the evening.  Now, shall we join the others?  I’m sure Ruth will have further words for me if I deprive her of your company.”

      “Of course… a happy home, as you say.”

      “Quite right.  You _do_ understand me well.”

__________

Mycroft made sure he was introduced to each person present and knew that, behind the scenes, every identity was being checked, information was being gathered, individuals were being dispatched to various pretenses to begin establishing surveillance on homes, preparations were being made to freeze assets… the downfall was in motion.  The feeling of relief was almost enough to allow Mycroft to relax and enjoy his meal.  Almost.  It was the most foolish of errors to show anything but complete vigilance until the final curtain had gone down on an operation, however, it did allow him to permit Samuel to take the lion’s share of their portion of the conversation and use the time to more closely study those gathered around the table.  What always amazed Mycroft was how benign the truly evil appeared.  Anyone stumbling on this breakfast would assume it was a collection of genial accountants and their spouses enjoying a discussion of ledgers and adding machines.  But that was always the way.  The villainy hidden by a mask of civility and that was why the villainy so easily flourished.

      “Mr. Holmes, I do hope you are planning on having another event soon.  I was so put out to have missed the last one.”

      “Mycroft, please.  As soon as a few matters are settled, I can assure you, I will be finding cause for celebration with friends, Mrs. Ashworth”

      “Delightful!  And you simply must call me Ruth.  You will not let him forget, will you Samuel?  I shall be most upset if you do.”

      “Don’t you worry about a thing, little lady.  I’ll ride roughshod right over him if he does.”

      “Oh, Samuel… such a silly thing you are.  And I simply adore it.  You must visit again, soon, even if our… oh my, I can’t really say husbands, can I?”

      “Well, not yet.  But who knows what the future might hold?  Now, how about you?  When are you and Don finally tying the knot?”

Mycroft let his attention roam as the woman began to laugh and wondered, not for the first time, how Samuel ever managed to secure a date, let alone a wife.  But, it did help to sell their façade as did the occasional reach across the table to take a morsel off of Mycroft’s plate or wave someone over to refill Mycroft’s depleted cup of tea.  The picture of a solicitous and loving partner.  Of course, that picture was drawn by an overly-imaginative three year-old and could in no way compare to the Mona-Lisa-quality of the picture painted by his dear Gregory.  One day, he and his love _would_ host gatherings in their home.  Mycroft had few acquaintances with whom he enjoyed socializing and it would be a remarkable experience to play the social host for a party he valued, rather one given to meet obligations.  And Gregory would shine.  His appearance, his wit, his open curiosity and pleasure at experiencing life… what a joy it would be to…

      “Does that meet with your approval, Mycroft?”

Woolgathering was never a wise use of time, but a well-trained mind could keep one metaphorical eye on the proceedings and simultaneously enjoy a bit of mental recreation.  A quick review of the tapes of said proceedings told him that yes, _that_ did meet with his approval.

      “I do believe it does.  I have been most anxious to further our previous discussions and after this very agreeable meal, I find myself eager to begin that activity.”

      “Excellent.  And Samuel will be joining us, of course.”

Mycroft tried not to choke on the sip of water he’d been taking and was at least relieved that he was not alone in his surprise.  The American looked like he had swallowed his tongue.

      “Pardon me?”

      “Samuel.  As I indicated, I believe he is a very good match for you and I don’t see why he should not be part of discussions that will, ultimately, impact him, as well.  And, I suspect he may have connections of his own both within and outside of the medical community that might be advantageous to us.”

      “Ah, I understand.  Well, I… Samuel, are you free today?  I seem to remember you had an appointment for the afternoon, but I may be mistaken.”

Mycroft crossed his internal fingers and hoped that the doctor did not take the out he had offered.  It would be entirely understandable if he did, because this was absolutely not what they agreed or even what Mycroft deemed optimum.  However, it would be far preferable not to disturb the convivial atmosphere they had cultivated and… the man _had_ proved useful both for distraction away from Mycroft’s own actions and for bringing a unique, and effective, approach to the situation.  For his part, Sam had shoved a piece of bread into his mouth to give himself time to think and made a show of checking his phone for the supposed appointment.  With a swallow he put away his phone and smiled at Mycroft.

      “That’s tomorrow.  I’m free today until the night shift starts, though I did say I’d call home and check on Greg every couple of hours to see how he’s doing.”

Agreement and a very pointed statement that someone was expecting communication on a regular basis.  A sound strategy to at least give an adversary pause before attempting to tragically inconvenience your day.

      “Then it’s settled.  I’m very pleased you’ll be joining us, Samuel.  I’m not sure what Mycroft has told you about our enterprise, but I can assure you it is highly profitable.”

      “Sweet.  There’s really nothing bad you can say about profit, is there?”

      “Again, a man after my own heart.  My dear, I believe you and the ladies have a day of shopping planned do you not?”

As the conversation turned to the separation of the parties, Mycroft took time to test his karmic bond with his archenemy and was rather surprised by how well it worked.  With a few eyebrow twitches, the dabbing of the corner of a mouth, a slight clearing of a throat and several not-quite-smiles, Mycroft was made very aware that Samuel’s behavior would continue to stay in check, but retribution would be swift and sure once they were on friendlier ground.  After a brief wish he had decided against underpants today, Mycroft joined the rest of the men rising from the table to bid farewell to the ladies.

__________

      “Ah, now we may speak more freely.  I do cherish my wife, however, too many issues are not for her ears.  In that, Mycroft, you are exceptionally lucky.”

Mycroft smiled at the nods and chuckles of agreement from the other guests and suffered stoically Samuel’s arm around his waist for a quick squeeze.

      “Shall we, gentlemen?”

The remaining guests followed Ashworth to what appeared to be his office, with several other men joining them, one of which Mycroft recognized as the bodyguard who had attended his cocktail party.  Two of these new attendees stayed on the other side of the door and two took position in the room, flanking the door.  Apparently, Ashworth took his dealings seriously and, like Mycroft, preferred to be prepared.  The guests began taking seats around the centrally-positioned desk, where extra chairs had been provided and Mycroft nodded for Samuel to take the seat next to him, but was shocked to get a tiny shake of the head in return.  Instead, the doctor took a chair at the opposite edge of the ‘C’ that surrounded Ashworth’s desk and considering a moment, Mycroft realized that between them they would have all participants in line of sight at all times.  It was a surprising bit of strategy from a medical practitioner, but Mycroft remembered that Samuel _had_ associated with several military units during his career and, perhaps, some tactical thinking had rubbed off on the clown of a man.

      “Good, now we can begin.”

Another aspect of pure villainy was the sheer commonness of it.  You would expect something more arcane and tinged with black magic, but so many acts of pervasive evil were exactly like this.  Discussions of profit-loss figures, supply-demand debates, arguments over when the tea break should occur… Mycroft had sat through countless numbers of similar meetings, both for beneficial and detrimental purposes and was still staggered by the banality of it all.    But the information was damning.  There was no subtlety to the language and it was quite clear what were the commodities they were discussing – humans and information.  Even without physical documentation of their true venture, Mycroft had enough detail to justify any action he felt necessary to dismantle their enterprise and punish those involved.  With prejudice.  But the more he gathered, the more quickly and thoroughly that would occur, so he endured the disgraceful conversation, actively participating at times to show interest and solidarity, noting that Sam did likewise.   After several hours of examining financial statements, debating areas of expansion and evaluating new sources of product the tea break was finally called and the men took the moment to stretch their legs, giving Mycroft the opportunity to reconnect with his working partner.

      “Well, this seems quite the busy little nest of wasps, Mycroft old buddy.  Thanks a bunch for bringing me along.  I would hate to have missed it.”

      “Busy is a very good word for it.  I am most astonished at the industriousness behind all of this.  Very admirable.”

Being in earshot of one’s host did limit one’s freedom of speech, but each was very clear about the other’s meaning.  This was a cesspool of perversion and cruelty, in addition to being a security risk of staggering proportions, and its demise merited a parade and fireworks display.  However, their host was not so gifted as to be able to read their minds and smiled as he walked over to join their conversation.

      “I am glad the two of you are pleased with what you are hearing.  And I assume you feel you can offer something to us in return.”

      “I daresay Samuel and I may be able to stretch your net somewhat into certain areas.  Just yesterday, in fact, he and I were discussing the very candid discussions that occur between doctor and patient.  Such candor often divulges information of the most sensitive of natures.  And that can always be turned to productive ends.”

      “I thought as much.  Well done.  And productive is definitely a positive thing, from my point of view.  Speaking of productive, though, I have not noticed your brother in the newspaper of late.  Too busy with his new toy, perhaps?  How is sweet Arthur, anyway?”

Mycroft noticed the slight shift in the doctor’s features and was happy they were presented as curiosity instead of the anger Mycroft knew actually lay at their base.

      “Well.  Very well, indeed.  And he _is_ a sweet boy, isn’t he?  A good foil for Sherlock’s more acidic nature.”

      “Oh, but a little acid makes one interesting, don’t you think?  You know, Mycroft, on occasion, when the wives have a weekend away, we sometimes indulge in a little entertainment ourselves.  I believe that a man, well men, of your disposition would find the time highly enjoyable.  I’ll make sure you are invited when next we have such an opportunity and you absolutely must bring along your brother and his Arthur.   I suspect Sherlock very much enjoys letting others play with his toys, so long as he is on hand to watch.  And sweet boys do make very nice toys, wouldn’t you say?”

The study of microexpressions had yet to catch up to Mycroft’s level of skill, so it was not possible for anyone else in the room to properly read the expression on Samuel Harris’s face.  It was an expression Mycroft recognized and… he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.  The almost invisible change in the doctor’s features morphed his appearance into one Mycroft knew from the coldest and most dangerous men he had ever met.  Men who would kill without thinking and without regret.  Men who barely _understood_ the concept of regret and were capable of the most vicious and inhuman actions.  It was an expression he had most certainly seen before… sometimes in his own mirror.

      “I look forward to it, however, do not place your faith in Sherlock’s attendance.  That he joined us for drinks is an event of such rarity that I duly marked it on my calendar.  He can be somewhat hermit-like in habits and, to our frustration, certainly does _not_ share.”

      “Pity.  But, I understand the possessive mind quite well.  In any case, we look forward to having you and Samuel.  And, naturally, your Detective Inspector, when he is able.”

      “Of course.  Oh, and is that the refreshments?”

Mycroft gave his companion a slight tap to the hand to stop the man sizing up Ashworth as if he was readying himself for taking the lout to the floor with a knife at his throat.  However, the action did not seem as extreme when Mycroft saw who was bringing the tea service into the room.  She could not be more than thirteen, even though Mycroft had no doubt that Ashworth could produce very convincing documents that she was any age he saw fit to give her.  She appeared properly nourished, but there was a sallowness to her skin and a cast to her eyes that said she still suffered gross mistreatment.  The likes of which quickly became unsettlingly clear as Mycroft watched one of the guests eyeing the young girl and stroke her hair when she passed his chair.  He then watched Ashcroft walk over and share a laugh with his comrade, nodding and grabbing the girl’s arm as she tried to serve the refreshments.  Drawing her over, he passed her arm over to the other man and began laughing again as the recipient rose and began to pull the girl towards the door.

From the corner of his eye, Mycroft saw Sam watching him and knew that he, this very moment, was being observed and judged.  All he had to do was say nothing.  The girl undoubtedly had been used time and time again and one more time would be, ultimately, inconsequential compared to the further information he would gain from the remainder of the meeting.  But, in saying nothing, he was no better than the men who _saw_ her as inconsequential.  Mycroft often had no choice but to sacrifice innocents for the greater good and it was never something that brought him anything but ache, however, he _did_ have a choice this time and in the next breath he was tapping the second button down on his waistcoat and walking towards the door, Samuel staying exactly in step with him as he moved.

      “Mycroft?  Is there a problem?”

Mycroft stared into eyes that were absolutely confused… the man had so little morality that the vileness of the situation was completely lost on him.

      “Yes, I do believe there is.  Unhand the young lady and allow her to leave this room unmolested if you would be so kind.”

It was very likely you _could_ hear a pin drop in the silence that suddenly filled the room and it was not without a little humor that Mycroft found himself thankful he had an ally at his side.  Ashworth quickly covered the distance to the potential altercation and stared confusedly at Mycroft, who returned his stare without wavering.

      “Mycroft, I must say that I neither understand nor appreciate that statement.  We are all men of the world here and…”

      “You are men of the most disgraceful subsection of humanity and please do not attempt to describe yourself otherwise.”

      “What… have you gone mad?”

      “I’d say Mycroft’s the sanest person in the room.  You’re a pig, Ashworth and if I had a decent knife with me, I’d happily volunteer to get started making bacon.”

Before Ashworth could give voice to his rising indignation, the door burst open and one of his hired men raced over to whisper something in his ear, something that made their host go pale.

      “Ah, I believe you are being informed that a number of well-trained and highly-armed individuals are currently moving towards this location and will gain entrance to your home within a minute or so.  I am sorry, Robert, but I believe your meeting is concluded.”

At Mycroft’s announcement, the room erupted into a flurry of panicked shouting and grabbing of documents, bodies trying to make it through the door at the same time and, for a few seconds, Mycroft and Sam could simply enjoy the chaos for what it was – the prelude to victory.  However, that moment quickly faded when the pair noticed that more attention was being focused their way and that attention was from men paid to do a great deal of damage to whomever they found themselves pointed towards.  In this case, the two men with an inconvenient lack of exit from the room or the situation.

It had been a long time since Mycroft had engaged in any form of direct combat, but that did not mean his skills were ever allowed to grow rusty.  Within a blink he was facing an opponent with far fewer years and far more muscle that he had, but, fortunately, lacking the niceties of training in the more effective and unexpected methods of physical attack.  When he could spare a glance, Mycroft was gladdened to see that the American doctor’s bravado about his fighting skills was not exaggerated.  Apparently, the man had acquired martial arts training at some point and had his adversary on the ground already, a kick to the ribs adding a sickening crack to the room’s noise.  However, the guard’s associates quickly moved in to continue the battle and Mycroft now had a second attacker with which to contend, so he escalated his defense and landed a blow that shattered his current opponent’s nose before delivering a sharp punch to the diaphragm that had said opponent gasping for air.  Another sharp crack sounded to his right and Mycroft could only hope that it was not the doctor whose bone had broken.

At this point, voices could be heard throughout the house, far more than the number of guests at the breakfast and Mycroft knew his team had arrived and were actively securing the residence along with the guests that escaped the office.  In that brief moment, Mycroft’s attention shifted slightly and the hit he took to his jaw put stars in front of his eyes, though they weren’t sufficiently thick as to block his vision and he landed several of his own punches in retaliation, the last of which sent the man he was battling staggering back a few steps.  This action, unfortunately, allowed the man extra room to move towards Mycroft, building momentum with each step and it was only at the last moment that Mycroft saw the flash of silver he knew was the blade of a knife.

A blade which never landed because the attacker was suddenly on the ground with Sam on top of him, smashing the man’s head against the floor until there was no longer a struggle.  Of course, Mycroft was left to deal with Sam’s final assailant and, taken off guard, had the struggle of several moments before he took out his attacker’s knee with a very well-placed kick, bringing them both down, the result of which had Mycroft hitting the side of his head on Ashcroft’s desk before he, too, landed on the ground.

      “Mycie!  Are you ok?  Shit, come on, look at me… I need to see your eyes.”

Mycroft blinked away his distorted vision and made to nod, only to be stopped by strong hands gripping the sides of his face.

      “Do not move your neck until I’ve checked you out.  I saw you hit that desk and I’m not tak…taking any chances.”

Mycroft had no time to contemplate the slight stammer before the room filled with the sound of booted feet running inside.

      “Mr. Holmes needs medical attention!  Someone get me a kit now!”

A pair of those booted feet raced off and, as Mycroft started to protest, Sam’s ‘do not even start’ cut off his sure-to-be finely-articulated argument.  And, perhaps, that was a good thing because the world was slightly… unsteady… at the moment.  As Mycroft lay there regaining his equilibrium, he felt the routine motions of a medical examination and, when the medical kit arrived, a bandage being applied to his head to cover what must have been a injury he never knew he had.

      “Ok, you j…just lay there a moment while I find out what’s… what’s going on.”

That stammering again… Mycroft tried to sit up and decided that was an ill-conceived action, forcing himself, instead, to rest until he was again joined by his… well, the term enemy seemed a bit inappropriate at the moment.

      “Looks like the mop up’s almost done and th…They’ve got those assholes already moving towards wherever it is you wanted them to go.  Found another couple of kids in the house, too, besides the girl and they’re being seen to.  Some of your people have started tearing this place apart for evidence and pretty much the same is going on at the houses of everyone who was here.  You did it, Skinny.  C…congratulations.”

Over… it was over.  After the months of work, the horrible pain for both himself and his Gregory… it was over.

      “Dr. Harris… please, sir, will you let me take a look at that?”

Mycroft swiveled his head slightly to see a large man kneeling next to the doctor who snarled at him with a ferocity that made the larger and professionally-trained combatant lean slightly away from the bared teeth.

      “Go away.”

      “Sir, I have to insist.  You’ve lost a lot of blood and…”

Mycroft sat up quickly and cursed himself at the pain and disorientation that produced.

      “Samuel!  You will report.”

      “My report is th…this boy needs to learn to keep his nose out of where it doesn’t belong.”

It was only then that Mycroft’s senses pulled into sufficient focus that he could see _and_ smell the blood spreading on the doctor’s shirt.

      “You were stabbed!”

      “Scratched.”

      “That is _not_ a scratch!  You need an ambulance immediately.”  

      “No, I need a needle and thread and a bottle of bourbon.  Really, it’s… it’s nothing.”

      “Sir, please listen to Mr. Holmes…”

      “How about you suck…”

      “Your phallic obsession is becoming tiresome, Samuel.”

      “Your obstinance is becoming tiresome, Mycroft.  Will you lay the fuck back down until we can get a stretcher to bring you out of here?  You’ve probably got a concussion and your brain is already sad enough without it getting any sadder.”

Concussion… well, that did explain a few things…

      “I shall acquiesce if you allow yourself to be examined.”

      “I’ve already examined myself and I’m tell…telling you it’s nothing.”

      “You are less than convincing.  Young man, please do your duty and if he objects further, do not hesitate to give him something to soothe his nerves.”

      “Unless it’s my fucking bourbon, don’t even think about it.  One tooth and my p…pinkie is all I need…”

      “Oh, that ridiculous story again.  Have you already depleted your repertoire of witty turns of phrase?”

      “Wow, what a lametastic comeback.  Borders on sucktacular, actually.”

However, Mycroft noticed, the doctor was allowing his shirt to be removed and Mycroft winced seeing the very nasty wound that ran across Sam’s side which looked worryingly deep.  But, it was a cut and not a stab, which was somewhat a less upsetting option.  It was a cut meant for _him_ , though. Actually, it probably would have been a stab if things had gone according to his assailant’s plan and the doctor had not intervened.

      “Dr. Harris, we really should take you…”

      “Back to Skin…Mycroft’s.  There’s a doctor there who’ll stitch me up.”

      “Sir, you should be monitored…”

      “I know the drill.  Get this one back on his back and out of here and I’ll come along quietly.  Trust me, son, it’ll be ok.”

Mycroft was firmly convinced that the stupid American could be punctuating his assertion with emphatic waves of his own severed arm if those were the circumstances, so he took the expedient step of waving the young man away and slowly lowered himself back onto the floor where the world was a much steadier place.

      “There you go, finally listening to reason.”

      “How much blood have you lost, Samuel?  And do not lie to me.  I would rather not have to beat the truth out of you, though if it is necessary, I shall take all appropriate steps to do so.”

      “I love your delusional wit, Skinny, I really do.  And I haven’t lost more than I can grow back.  I’m not dying, I promise you, though I’m sure you would have preferred a different diagnosis.”

The grin on the American’s face was weak, but still real and Mycroft’s concern downgraded to a slightly lower level.  This allowed room for other thoughts to filter in, one especially he wanted to clear away quickly.

      “During the altercation you called me Mycie.”

Again, no one else may have noticed the slight hesitation or fractionally widened eyes, but Mycroft did and made a further mental note to add to the day’s internal files.

      “I did?  Well, I’m not surprised.  I tend to do that, I guess.  James becomes Jimmy, John becomes J…Johnny, which he hates by the way…  I’ll probably be calling Arthur Artie at some point.  Why?”

      “It simply surprised me.  I have not been called that particular diminutive since my youth and, even then, it was a rare thing.”

      “I’ll keep that in mind.  I like Skinny better, an…anyway.”

      “Simply because it is annoying and it pleases you to annoy me.”

      “That _is_ a benefit.”

Mycroft was suddenly very tired.  And very sore.  And if he got the next piece over with now, he could blame his diminished capacity for his words.

      “I do, however… I do want to thank you, Samuel.  For today, I mean.  You could have stepped away from this and it was helpful that you did not.  You also suffered an injury that you could have avoided in order to spare me, likely, a more severe one.  I also must thank you for your preparedness to defend Arthur’s honor.  I do fear for him, at times.  Martin would fight to the death to protect him, but if Arthur were caught alone against men such as these…”

      “He’d fuck them up royally.  Or, at least, he’d try.  Well, he’d do his best to get out of there and get help.  Want me to give him some s…self-defense lessons?”

      “Arthur does enjoy learning new skills.  It was because he acted on John’s advice to take instruction in emergency aid that Gregory’s life was saved.”

      “Ok then… soon as I, get some fishing line wound through this scratch, I’ll show him some simple moves.”

      “Nonsense.  I shall enroll him in a course when he returns to Fitton.”

      “They’ll show him how to fight like a wet noodle.  I’ll sh…show him how to make a man eat his own spleen.”

      “With just a single tooth and your pinkie, of course.”

      “Don’t even need the tooth for that one.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all of your encouragement and support for this story. I do appreciate every bit of it!

      “Mycroft, you two already done?”

      “Not Mycroft, John.  I’ve just… I’ve been using his phone to make some calls and… forget it.  Listen, we’re coming in and have casualties.  Drag an extra bed into Greg’s room now and be prepared for another body for a couple of days.”

John pushed the truly horrific images out of his head and concentrated instead on the fact that Sam’s anxiety wasn’t pushing him to take whatever problem this was to an actual hospital.

      “What’s wrong?”

      “Things got a little hot and Mycroft suffered minor head trauma.  Most likely nothing but a concussion, but I’ve got a portable CT scanner on its way just to be sure.”

Crap!  A simple breakfast… Greg was going to go ballistic when he heard.  But Sam was right; putting Mycroft in Greg’s room would ease Greg’s worry considerably.

      “Why aren’t you taking him to…”

      “Nothing we can’t handle ourselves and I’d rather not have either of us out in the open until we’re sure there aren’t any rats running around with d…designs on the rest of Mycroft’s brain.”

      “Ok… ok, I can understand that.  I’ll have things ready.  ETA?”

      “Fifteen minutes.  Get the bed first and we can take it from there.”

      “On it.”

John terminated the call and hesitated a moment before meeting the very wide eyes of his partner and his very fragile friend.  It was a good thing that Sherlock had come back directly after visiting Molly (with a bag of something John had no desire to know more about than it… well, it came from Molly), because moving one of Mycroft’s expensive and heavy beds needed two good backs.

      “Sherlock, I need your help… come on.”

      “Wait!  What’s going on, John?  That was about Mycroft and Sam, wasn’t it?”

      “It’s ok, Greg.  Everything’s fine.  Don’t worry about a thing…”

      “Now I’m _really_ worried!  What’s the matter?  What happened?  Oh god, don’t tell me Mycroft’s…”

John leaped over to press his friend gently down to keep him from rising further in his bed.

      “John, if something has happened to Mycroft or…”

      “Sherlock… look.  The two of you, just listen to me.  Mycroft got a bumped head and we’re going to put a bed in here so Sam and I can keep a watch over both patients at once.  No!  Lie still, you stupid bastard.  Bumped head… if Sam thought there was really a problem they’d be on their way to A&E, but they’re not.  And there’s a portable CT scanner on the way so we can make doubly sure that everything’s fine.  Please… please just take it easy and let Sherlock and I get a bed moved it.  They’re only a few minutes away and we need someplace comfortable to put Mycroft when they arrive.  Can I trust you to be left alone for five minutes and not do anything stupid?”

Though John understood perfectly his friend’s burning worry.  There was nothing worse than this.  Getting your own self hurt didn’t ache as anywhere as badly as knowing your loved one was sick or injured.

      “John, if he’s hurt…”

      “Then he’ll need a bed.  Let us get this done so he’ll be right here with you while we check him out and let him get a little rest.  Trust me… if it were really bad, Sam would have let me know.  Now, we’ll be back in a minute.”

John nodded Sherlock to follow and gave his partner’s hand a squeeze as they left the room.

      “What information did you acquire, John?”

      “Not much.  They had a problem and Mycroft got his head banged.  Sam suspects concussion, but he’s going to double-check for any more serious problems.  The way it sounds, Mycroft will just need a day or two of rest and he’ll be fine.”

      “Lestrade will remain highly agitated until he is certain my brother is not in any danger.”

      “That’s why we’re putting the two together.  Can’t have Greg trying to sneak out and check on Mycroft or vice versa.  Once in awhile, Captain America has a decent idea.  So, how about that bed in that little downstairs guest room?”

      “Admirable choice.  Though I have no wish to increase Mycroft’s discomfort, as it offers me no benefit or amusement, I value my ability to use my spine for the remainder of my life.”

      “On this one, we’re in complete agreement.”

__________

Lestrade tried to will himself to stop shaking and failed miserably.  Mycroft was hurt.  Got hurt on this stupid mission for this stupid… thing… and now he was hurt and John lies for crap on the best of days… his mind wouldn’t quiet and his body wouldn’t obey and this whole insane business had taken his… nearly taken his everything!... and now Mycroft  was hurt because of it.  Lestrade hoped that everyone that needed to be taken care of in his business were dead or out of his reach because he was going to drag his arse out of this bed and gut every one of them if there was anything permanently wrong with Mycroft.  A concussion… those could be nasty and Mycroft’s mind was everything to him.  And what if it was worse?  Internal bleeding, brain damage… he’d love Mycroft no matter what, but if his brain was impaired, Mycroft wouldn’t be able to love _himself_.

      “Greg!  Charles got a call and drove us here, not that we were very far but we were going to keep going and find a shop that sold baby clothes so we could get more outfits for the bears, because I got the idea that they should have outfits for each season and the holidays and Skip said that was a _good_ idea and…”

      “Calm down, love.  Greg?  We got diverted here, something about all hands on deck.  Any idea what it’s about?”

      “It’s… it’s Mycroft, Martin.  He got hurt and…”

      “WHAT!  Mycroft’s hurt!  No!  What happened?  Where is he?  What can we do?  Will he be in a hospital room, too?  Is it bad?   Oh, and Doctor Sam was with him… what happened?  Where is he?  What can we do?  Will he be in a hospital room, too?  With  Mycroft?  That might not be the best idea because Mycroft can get a little testy when Doctor Sam’s being silly and…”

Martin ran a hand down his fiance’s back and took the bags out of Arthur’s hand, tossing them onto a chair so the steward had two arms free to give Lestrade a fingertip hug.

      “Don’t know more than that, Arthur.  John got a quick call and he and… sounds like they’re back.  Move those chairs out of the way so they can get that bed in here.”

      “Bed?  Bed!  Yes!  Good!  Mycroft will be here and you’ll be here and that’s smart since we can visit you both at the same time.  Skip, help me clear a space.”

It was fortunate that Mycroft’s house had large doors, since moving even this modest bed out of one room and into the other took an act that required the violation of laws of spatial relations that John had no intention of contemplating.  But the bed made it safely to the space next to Lestrade’s and Arthur raced to get the left-behind bedding.

      “John, Greg said you don’t know much, but…”

      “I really don’t, Martin.  Concussion is most likely, according to Sam, and I don’t have any reason to question his judgment.  They’ll be here in a few minutes so, we’ll know soon enough.”

And ‘soon’ came on the heels of the room’s new bed being made and several more rounds of trying to get Lestrade calmed down, the latter of which was going very unsuccessfully.  When the front door was opened, John ran towards it, with Sherlock close on his heels, Martin and Arthur following only a step or two behind.  Then the entire party was running back the other direction to prevent being barreled over by the vigorous, though slightly shaky, arguing going on between Mycroft, Sam and an uncountable number of invisible parties to whom each of the actual humans were either swearing or praying to drive home their points.  All of which seemed to be some version of they were in excellent health and anyone who disagreed was a cretin.  The only silent member of the team was their driver who was carrying the other end of Mycroft’s stretcher, but the look on the man’s face spoke that this argument had been going on for quite some time.  It was only when John stepped in to help get Mycroft secured in the new bed that he realized that (1) the blood covering Sam hadn’t come second hand and (2) Arthur was frozen in place staring at it.

      “Sam!  What the… oh god, get your shirt off!”

      “Best bandage available right now, so not gonna happen.”

      “You argue with him John.  I am exceedingly tired of his noisome nattering and only desire… Gregory, my dear... oh, my dear, dear Gregory, please do not look at me that way.  There is nothing to worry about…”

      “Your head’s fucking bandaged and that last bit was slurred!  I’m going to check…”

Sherlock swooped in since John was busy trying to get Sam’s shirt off of his body and kept Lestrade prone in his bed.

      “Dammit John!  Will you leave me the fuck alone and pay attention to Mycroft!  Head injury, remember.”

      “He’s lucid, which is more than I can say for you if you lose any more blood!”

      “Blood schmud, get your ass over there and examine him!  I’ll take care of this nick.”

      “Nick!  You’re hemorrhaging!”

      “Fucking drama queen!  Do your goddam j…job or I will have you out the door so fast you won’t have time to blink!”

      “You couldn’t get me out the door if your life depended on it!  And it does!”

      “Help him!”

      “I need to help you first!”

      “Fuck you!  Stop arguing with me and use your brain!  I can sew this up myself but… he went down on my watch – mine!  And with all the shit going on… I can’t be sure if I missed something.  Now, you are going to have your mother fucking eyes on him in one second or I swear to god I’ll turn both of them black!  Mycroft is the p…priority right now and DO NOT forget that simple fact!  Arthur, Martin… with me!”

Arthur’s weak, ‘do I have to?’ was barely heard over John’s ‘GET BACK HERE!’ as Sam paused to rifle through one of the small supply cabinets and extract a handful of items that he waved at John while reminding him that his life was going to be worthless if he didn’t follow orders.  Then he was marching out the door with Martin quickly following and pulling along a very confused Arthur.

      “And THAT is what I have endured incessantly since I received this insignificant tap to my head.  Really John, this bed was not necessary…”

      “You get out and I get out!”

      “Gregory, behave yourself.  Sherlock, see to him.”

      “I fail to listen to you when you are fully possessed of your faculties, so expecting me to do so now is further proof that you require John’s medical assistance.”

      “And Greg’s right, your speech is a little off.  Ok, since I’ll be killed if I don’t give you an exam, let’s get started.”

      “Do not pay attention to Samuel’s infantile temper tantrum, John.  He has been on a near rampage since we engaged in our little altercation.”

      “Oh, Mycroft… you poor deluded man.  That was nowhere near Sam’s actual temper tantrum.  I’ve only seen him really blow once and he destroyed a hospital room in the process.  And by destroyed, I mean walls, ceiling, furniture, windows… it was like a bomb went off.  And wouldn’t let anyone in for a good hour afterwards while he cooled down.  That little blow up was nothing, actually he sounded more worried than angry, so I’ll be a good little soldier and keep my dazzling eyes just as they are.”

Somehow, news of his archenemy’s temper didn’t surprise Mycroft.  At the best of times he was an excitable person, therefore, if properly provoked… and Mycroft would never forget the expression on the man’s face as they discussed young Arthur.  Volatile _and_ dangerous… yes, he _had_ been rather deluded…

      “Then I shall be thankful he was able to turn his energies to more pressing needs such as subduing our assailants.”

      “TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!”

      “Gregory Lestrade!  I am not two steps from you and I have not fallen deaf from my small bump.”

Nor was he the only one concerned that his Gregory’s agitation was rising.  Despite his ridiculous posturing, Sherlock had moved to a chair closer to the hospital bed and John was beginning to eye the drawer where Mycroft knew certain medications, such as the sedatives, were housed.

      “If you agree to stay calm, I shall outline the events while John performs his medical duties.  Do you believe you can comply?”

      “Just tell me!”

      “Calm?”

      “I’ll try, but I’m not promising _anything_.   Start talking.”

Mycroft glanced at both Sherlock and John, who had nothing else to do but shrug their shoulders, and realized that the Detective Inspector was not going to find any peace until he was fully apprised of the details.  And… laying here in something that did not move was very welcome.

      “Very well.  But, I do hold you to your promise to try.”

And into the story Mycroft launched, while John performed various tests, checked the wound on his head, and Sherlock took a more active role in keeping the very agitated Gregory Lestrade within the bounds of holding to his word, though it was a near thing more than a few times.

      “And that is the sum of the situation, my dear.  At this point I can give you my assurance that, beyond some administrative paperwork, I have no further dealings with that distasteful business.”

      “You… you had to fight your way out of there?”

      “No, we simply had to defend ourselves until the assault team had control of the matter.”

      “And that bastard came at you with a knife?”

      “Which failed to even contact my flesh.”

Not that the same could be said for the American doctor.  Mycroft had calculated in his mind the most likely outcome of that encounter and there was little doubt that he would not have fared well, even if he was able to dispatch his attacker after the strike.  As it was, Mycroft was not at all certain how his nemesis was still on his feet and able to half-support the weight of a full grown man from the car into the house.

      “That doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t matter at all.”

John patted Mycroft on the shoulder and took his turn offering calming words to the most distressed person in the room.

      “Greg, you can’t start making yourself crazy over what might have been.  You know what lies at the end of that road.  Mycroft fine… sort of… and he’s here with you and it’s over.  Don’t dwell on the ‘might haves,’ mate.  It’s not going to be good for you.”

      “Listen to John, Lestrade.  Or, you feel his assurances are worthless due to his foolishly optimistic nature, then believe mine.  Mycroft, as a further punishment for my sins, is well and not yet ready to pass into the great beyond. The situation could have ended differently, however, it did not.  How many times in your career could the same be said?  And that will not change once you return to your position; there will be many occasions where some small alteration of circumstances would have resulted in a dramatically-different outcome.  Is it your wish, each time, that Mycroft dissolve into histrionics as you are doing now?”

      “Easy, Sherlock.”

      “No, John… he’s right.  He’s a complete arse, but he’s right.  Not gonna say I’m sorry, though.  Mycroft could have been killed, so I’m not going to say I’m sorry for being upset or worrying.  But, yeah… it didn’t actually happen and dwelling on the maybe’s isn’t going to get me anything but a needleful of the crap you don’t think I noticed you eyeing.  So, how _is_ my ninja warrior doing?”

None of the other three actually believed Lestrade was as calm as he was pretending, but he was better than he was before and it was a victory they were willing to claim.

      “Well, I’m about 100% sure that he’s got a concussion and as soon as the equipment’s here, I’ll check for anything further, but if his condition isn’t declining, then I’ll likely not find anything.  So, nasty headache, maybe a little mental fuzziness for a bit and with those bruises that are starting to glow, I’d say some unpleasant aches and pains.  Prescription is bed rest for… until I say so… and a pain killer if something else starts to hurt that the adrenaline’s currently hiding.  All in all, for having to hack his way through the enemy forces and save the free world, I’d say he’s in good shape.”

The mental fuzziness part of the diagnosis was not what Mycroft wanted to hear, but he also had to admit that it was taking a small while longer to pull together his thoughts for more than the simplest of issues.  Just a small while, but it was frustrating, nonetheless.  The upcoming pain was of no personal consequence, but it was bothersome because would hinder his ability to provide care for his Gregory should the need arise.  And, regardless of John’s draconian edict, Mycroft would not remain bedbound for longer than was required for a small rest and perhaps some time alone with his partner to continue to demonstrate both his lack of mortal injury and that, without doubt, the situation that had caused his Gregory so very much misery was at an end.

      “Are you fears assuaged, my dear?”

      “A little.  But you’re staying there so I can watch you, right?  No sneaking off for a piss and never coming back…”

      “Sherlock and I didn’t haul in this back-breaking bed just for him to do a runner the first time I nip out to make some tea.”

      “Wasn’t asking you, John.  Your sensible and self-serving answer means nothing when the king over there gets an idea in head.”

      “His Royal Majesty gladly gives you his word that he shall not make himself absent from your presence during his convalescence.  Will that be acceptable to you, my Queen?”

      “I’d look great in a big gown with a huge crown on my head.  I’d want a scepter, too, so I could bust some heads if the rabble got cheeky.”

      “My beloved is already preparing to rule with an iron fist.  I could not be more proud.”

      “Well, the royal physician is taking charge and telling you both to get some rest.  Mycroft, I’d rather you not walk around more than is necessary right now, so I’ll get Sherlock to get some things from your bedroom, if that’s alright.”

      “I have no intention of putting my hands on anything that clings to his body when it is not weeping over its fate in its sepulchral drawer.”

      “And Sherlock can be the court jester!  We’ve got everyone now, so you can start passing out the knighthoods and property.  I’d like something out in the country so I can have a happy little quiet practice.  Or near the sea.  Either one.  Or both.”

      “I shall keep that in mind.  And I am perfectly capable to securing a few garments…”

      “Already trying to be defiant.  You know, Greg’s not the only one who I can prep a syringe for if you cross me once too often.”

And the argument may have continued for most of the evening if the sounding of the doorbell hadn’t announced visitors, which relieved John because it was most likely the portable CT scanner and he could lay to rest the last of everyone’s worries about Mycroft’s condition.

      “Sherlock, can you go and let them in?  It’s probably the scanner for Mycroft and…”

      “Can it be operated alone?”

Odd question, but Sherlock was nothing if not curious about things he might be able to find a use for with his own investigations.

      “It can, but it’s easier if you’ve got help.”

      “That is fortunate, since we have yet to hear from the other half of the household and I am not certain if that is glad tidings or if the American has died from blood loss and Martin is busy consoling Arthur in his grief.”

John froze in place and felt his insides seize into a tight knot.  Sam… he’d completely forgotten about the second medical party and, as he suspected, the one dealing with the far greater medical problem.  As Sherlock passed him to supervise the arrival of the equipment, he gave his partner a small squeeze on his arm to acknowledge John’s obvious frustration at his letting his friend’s condition slip his mind.

      “He will not thank you, John, for leaving what he sees as your assigned post, repugnant as that thought is to me personally.  Samuel demonstrated a surprising degree of protective behavior associated with my welfare and I doubt that the endocrine basis of that behavior will have fully ebbed.”

      “Yeah, he was out his head… moreso than usual, though he can get pretty worked up over any of his normal patients.  I think he feels he let you down.  Sam’s not one to underestimate in a fight; I’ve seen him spar with lads just coming back from overseas and he can hold his own without any problem.  My guess is he’s feeling guilty over what he sees as failing to keep you in one piece so… out comes the snarling tiger to make sure nothing comes of his mistake.”

      “Hmmm…. I had not considered that perspective, but there could be some validity to your argument.  I do know his agitation at the terminus of our confrontation was such that it affected his speech.”

      “What does that even mean?”

      “He demonstrated a slight stammer, which I assume was stress-related.”

      “Huh… I’ve seen him stressed nearly out of his head and never caught so much as a trip in his speech.  Now that you mentioned it, though, he did stutter a little when his temper got up over me working on that gash of his.  Maybe because he felt he let you down, he got more agitated than normal and it got his head working faster than his mouth.”

      “Or it’s because Mycroft’s got another boyfriend!  I tell you, I let you out of my sight for one minute and you’ve got your arms filled with Yankee goodness.”

      “Thank you, Gregory.  I _was_ successfully battling the surges of nausea I was experiencing, however, I do believe my battlements have been breached.”

      “I’m sorry, love.  But, you have to admit that…”

      ‘I _have_ to admit nothing.  If you were present to experience the suggestive innuendo concerning Samuel, myself and you, I do not think you would be so flippant.”

      “Innuendo about me!   Now, that’s something to raise my spirits.  Never really been the subject of juicy gossip and now I’ve got an international band of perverts fantasizing about me.  Today just got lots better.”

      “Gregory, please, have pity on my gastrointestinal system.  The mere thought of the two of us twining in sexual congress with Samuel… John, I do believe I require an anti-emetic.”

      “Threesome!  Oh this keeps getting better!  I guess I’m on the bottom since I can’t get out of this bed, but I…” 

      “John – force his silence!”

      “Calm down, Mycroft… let the poor old thing have his little fantasy about being wanton and wanted.  It’s keeping him nice and calm and look at that big smile.  Trying to remember the good old days when he actually had things like looks and flexibility.”

The adrenaline was wearing off and Mycroft was feeling more strongly the massive pain living within his skull, but, at minimum, listening to his Gregory losing his worries enough to verbally play with him was helping it from becoming crippling.

      “My physical therapy might help with the flexibility part.  In fact, put that in your doctor’s orders.  Patient needs to regain flexibility to keep up with demands of international pervert ring and spontaneous threesomes in sickbed.”

      “Gregory, my love for you is as undying as the sun, however, it is not at all uncommon for one to love the person they murder in a horrifying and dismembering fashion.”

      “Help, I’m being oppressed!”

      “Mycroft, try not to agitate yourself.  Greg, try at least act like half your age.  If…”

      “I have had your device set up in the sitting room, John.  Are you ready?”

Sherlock’s head peeked in the room as if the rest of his body was worried about becoming contaminated by the discussion of which he’d caught the last few salvos.

      “Good.  Ok, Mycroft, I doubt you want me and Sherlock taking you on a stretcher so let’s get you up and you can walk instead.  But you need to let me know if you feel lightheaded at any point, ok.”

      “I believe I can walk the few steps required for this procedure, John.”

      “And if you get dizzy and vomit, won’t you feel the silly twit for being smug.”

      “Ghastly.  Your personality is completely at odds with your role as a caregiver.”

      “Hey, you Holmes aren’t the only ones who can be enigmatic.”

__________

Sam stormed out of Lestrade’s room and vowed that if a certain colleague followed after him he’d use the last of his strength to beat that colleague to a bloody pulp.  How could he have been so careless?  As soon as they broke up that disgusting display at Ashworth’s he should have been on alert for retaliation.  Then, when Mycroft’s men got there, he should have known that all hell would break loose and he should have taken a better assessment of the situation.  As it was, all he could do was position himself to take the bigger of the first two to launch themselves at them but… he should have been smarter.   Guns he’d been on lookout for, but the knife slipped his notice until it was nearly too late.   Not that Mycroft wasn’t doing a surprisingly admirable job of holding his own, but damn… he should have handled things better.  ‘First, do no harm’ might not actually be in the Hippocratic Oath, but he tried to live by it and the scope was pretty broad by his definition.  Well, he’d kicked the ever-loving shit out of that oath today, hadn’t he, and Mycroft had suffered for his failure.

      “Martin, find two bottles of vodka.  Or gin.  Or rum.  Anything that’s clear.   Meet Arthur and me in the kitchen.”

Martin looked at his fiancé who was still slightly dazed and gave him a quick and comforting kiss before running off to complete his errand.  For his part, Arthur desperately wanted to reach out and hold the doctor’s hand, for both their comforts, but those hands had blood on them...

When they reached the kitchen, Sam tossed his supplies on the table and dropped onto a chair.

      “Arthur, grab a bunch of towels, paper towels are fine if you have to.”

Something to do… that was when Arthur was happiest.  Something to do and someone to help and everything was wonderful and brilliant and he didn’t have to think about the fact that Doctor Sam’s shirt was getting redder and redder and it was seeping into his trousers, too.

      “Ok, good.  Real good, now look at me, right dead in the eye.”

Arthur clutched his handful of towels to his chest for support, but did as he was told.

      “Thataboy.  Now, I know this is hard for you.  I _know_ this is hard for you because of what you went through with Greg, but I wouldn’t ask you for help if I didn’t think you could put that out of your head and do what had to be done.  Am I right about that?”

Arthur swallowed hard and nodded.  Help… he could help.  It was what he did best!  Even with all that blood, he could help.  Maybe.  But he had to try!

      “Good boy.  Now, let’s get this shirt off of me and… don’t worry if you need to take a step back for a minute or something.”

Sam got the shirt unbuttoned, then started removing his arms, with Arthur taking over instead seeing how much of a struggle it was becoming.

      “Thanks… my adrenaline’s wearing off, too, so if I start to get a little stupid… and that’ll be hard to tell, I know… but just poke me or flick my ear to get me back on track.  That’ll be especially important once Martin’s back with my booze.”

Arthur took care pulling off Sam’s bloody shirt and hesitated a moment before placing it in the sink.  It was then, after turning back to the doctor, that he could see, in detail, the damage and there was no possibility that he could stifle the small whimper at the sight of the deep and long gash in Sam’s side.  It looked like someone had tried to cut him in half but got their knife stuck and had to quit.

      “It’s ok, kid.  I know it doesn’t look good, but if I’m not dead yet, I’m not going to be.  Now, get a couple of those towels wet and let’s get some of this ketchup cleaned off me so we can see the worksite a little better.”

Two towels were soaked with water and Arthur handed one to still-bleeding American.

      “I used warm water since I thought you wouldn’t want cold water on your skin, but maybe cold would have been better since… blood is rather warm isn’t it… so maybe cold would have been better.  I can get them wet again if you…”

      “Nope, you did right.  Nice warm water will clean things better.  And you’re right, blood _is_ warm.  Most people don’t really think about that.  There’s another thing you can tell people that you’ll know that they don’t, like all those bear facts you were telling me about.  Very informative.  I plan to use some of them to help me pick up chicks.”

      “Really?  Oh…oh!  Well, I’m glad that was helpful.”

      “You like that, don’t you.  Helping out when you can?”

      “Yeah…”

      “And you’re great at it, so don’t ever stop.  Just like now, I already feel better getting some of this crap off of me and us sitting here having a little chat.  But, I’m going to need you to do a little more, if that’s ok?”

Arthur cocked his head and held off asking what the doctor meant when Martin found them and presented his two bottles of alcohol.

      “Vodka, and good vodka if I’m not mistaken.”

Sam cracked the seal of one bottle and took a long drink.

      “You are not mistaken.  I’ll say this for Skinny, he’s got good taste in booze.  Too bad we’re wasting some of it.”

And with that, Sam poured a large measure of the vodka onto a towel and quickly used it to wipe around the edges of his injury.

      “Now the fun part.  And by fun, I mean fucking miserable.”

The next portion was poured directly over the wound and Arthur was sure the bottle would break in the man’s hand as tightly as he gripped while he rode out the pain.

      “Aw SHIT!  That NEVER feels good.”

      “Ummm… Sam.  Don’t they make alcohol specifically for that purpose?”

The doctor blinked a few times then very slightly nodded over to Arthur to draw Martin’s attention to Arthur’s freshly renewed distress.

      “If it’s good enough to go down my throat, Martin, it’s good enough to go in my scratch.  Besides, this stuff at least started out natural, unlike that swill they brew up in vats next to antifreeze and drain cleaner.   And if I have the opportunity to choose my stink, I’ll choose vodka over rubbing alcohol any day.”

Martin snorted and gently rubbed Arthur’s back as his fiancé’s attention kept fixing on the fresh blood oozing out of the wound.

      “Why do I suspect it’s more that you’ve watched too many movies over the years?”

      “Because you’re a hell of a lot smarter than you look.”

But it didn’t take a great deal of smarts to hear both the pain and the rapidly growing fatigue in the doctor’s voice.

      “So what do we do now?”

      “Good question.  Arthur, shove that stuff over, will you?”

Arthur roused from his fugue and moved the materials closer to Sam.

      “Ok, as you can see, I’m oozing again and since I’m not a zombie, that ain’t good.  So, we’re going to sew me up and stop that shit in its tracks.”

      “Sew?”

      “Yes, my boy… sew.”

      “We?”

      “You’re on a roll, kid.  I can reach a lot of it, but not all of it, so you’ll have to take over and finish up for me.  John said you took that class, so they must have shown you how to do a little stitch witchery.”

Martin rubbed Arthur’s back harder and faster because it was not entirely clear if Arthur was about to begin hyperventilating.

      “I… I… I…”

      “Great!  Now that we’ve established you’re you, I’m going to get started.”  

      “No!  I mean… I’ve never done that before.”

      “Had you saved someone’s life before?  No.  But you did it and you’re going to do this, too.”

      “But… I got a little ill watching the instruction video and practicing with Mum’s roast made me even a little _more_ ill, so… shouldn’t Doctor Watson do this?”

      “John’s got more important things to worry about.  Head injuries are touchy and I want a trained eye on Mycroft 24/7 until I’ve cleared him.  Besides, I’ve got my nurse here, so what do I need that shrimp for?”

      “Sam, maybe Arthur…”

      “Do you want to do it?”

      “What!  No!  I mean… I don’t have any training for that and…”   

      “Exactly.  Sorry, kid, but you knew you might have to actually _use_ your first-aid training at some point, so now’s the time to man up again and take charge.  You did fine with Greg, better than fine actually, and you _will_ do fine again this time.  Look at it this way, you can’t actually screw up or kill me so there’s no way this can go south.  Ok, a little more clean up work, which hurts like ball-sucking hell if you really want to know and… yeah, I did grab anesthetic and not estrogen or something.  One nice syringe full and, Martin if you’re not the needle type, you might not want to be here.  I’m not gonna want to deal with two people who’ve bashed their heads falling on the floor today.”

Martin wanted very much not to be there, but he wasn’t going to leave Arthur alone when he needed support.  Luckily, he hadn’t had much to eat today.

      “I’m fine.”

      “Ok then… Arthur, I want you to watch me start deadening this old, yet attractively supple, skin because the last few hits are going to have to be yours.  See what I’m doing?  And you don’t need to shoot in a lot, just a dab will do ya…”

Arthur hoped he wasn’t looking as green as he felt.  When he took his class, he thought he’d only really have to handle the… happier… things like sprains and bumps and bruises.  Maybe someone fainting… not CPR-for-real and shots and sutures.  But he would.  Doctor Sam needed him just like Greg had needed him and he _would_ do his best to help, even if he did feel a bit sick.

      “Ok, your turn.  And don’t worry about hurting me, because that tiny toad-sticker can’t do anything to make me notice it right now.”

Sam passed over the half-full syringe and once Arthur took it, leaned back to take another draw on the vodka bottle.

      “How many?”

      “Sticks?  Honestly I’m not sure how far back it goes, show me with your fingers.”

Arthur looked closely, then showed the remaining length of the cut with his hand.

      “Give it six, at least.  You can do more if you want to get a little extra practice.  It won’t hurt anything and you never know if you’ll have to do it again someday.  Give someone their insulin or… do you keep a suture kit on board your plane?”

      “I… no, I don’t think so.”

      “Well, add one to your med bag.  You’ll be a pro after this and if someone needs treating you’ll want to be prepared.”

Arthur dearly hoped it never happened, but it was true that if someone did get a nasty cut, he _should_ be able to do something to make them feel better.

      “Ok, that’s a good idea.  I’m going to start now…”

Martin stood close enough for Arthur to lean against him as the steward knelt to start giving the injections, but took the time to really admire Mycroft’s choice in appliances and wall paint.

      “Is this… am I doing this right?”

      “Like a pro.  Just keep going around like I did and when you think you’re done, you’re done.  I’ll just be over here getting hammered in the meantime.”

      “Ok, but Doctor Sam, if you drink too much will you be able to keep an eye on Mycroft and Greg when Doctor Watson has to go home?”

      “Good question and the short answer is yes.  The long answer is I seriously doubt John is going to go home tonight because he’s a going to be all fluttery with three beat-ups in the house, so if I take my sweet time and drain Skinny’s liquor cabinet, it’s not going to be a problem.  And it takes a LOT of hooch for me to be medically impaired.  Did I ever tell you the story of how I had to take out an appendix after I won a shots competition with some med school babies?  Fun times…”

      “Oh… well.  Good.  Yes, that’s good.  I guess.  I really don’t know if that’s good or not actually, but I’m sure you wouldn’t call it fun if wasn’t good, so yeah…”

      “Still feeling sick?”

      “A little.  But it’s not as bad as I thought.”

      “Never is.  It’s always the worry that’s the worst.  Done?”

      “Just one more.  I did extra for practice, too.”

      “Gold star on your report card.   Now, for the real magic.  Martin, you holding on?”

      “Mycroft’s cupboards… what do you think of the style?”

      “Good man.  Alright, Arthur, it’s just like you practiced.  I’ll do as much as I can then hand over to you to finish up.  So watch me and just remember your training.  Take that towel and clean things up ahead of me as I work, too.”

Same readied his materials and poked the tissue a few times to test how well the anesthetic was working, taking a few more swallows of vodka before getting started.  Arthur, as instructed, cleaned up the blood as Sam worked to close up his wound and paid close attention to how the doctor was doing the stitching.  Just how close together and just how big and just how deep and by the time Sam handed things over, he felt far more confident than he had.  And he hadn’t gotten sick!  In fact, concentrating on things took his mind completely off of being sick or scared and after the first few stitches that he asked Sam to watch, he knew that he could do this.  Even if there wasn’t anyone around to supervise, he would be able to do this and he _was_ going to put a suture kit on GERTI to go along with the other supplies he’d gathered.  If someone needed a shot or some stitches, he’d be ready and wouldn’t have to worry at all about doing a poor job because he could do it!

      “Now that’s the ticket.  I like my stitches like I like my women, tidy and tight, and you’re doing a bang-up job with that.”

      “Brilliant!  This is actually a lot better than practicing on Mum’s roast because I couldn’t tell if I was hurting it, since it couldn’t talk, but  you can so I know I’m doing things right.  See Skip!  Look at what I did!”

      “I’ll take your word for it.”

      “Tell you what, as soon as you tie off you can go get your camera for a picture.”

      “Hurray!  I do want a picture, too, even if Skip doesn’t want to see it.  Mum’ll never believe I got to sew up a person.  She said she didn’t think I’d even be able to sew a button let alone a real person and now I can show her she was wrong!”

      “She certainly was.  I’ve seen doctors who do a shittier job than that and they get paid for it.  Now, here’s how to finish up…”

Arthur listened intently and followed each instruction to the letter, standing up to do a little dance when he was done.

      “Victory dance.  I definitely approve.  Now, get your camera and I’ll wait here with Martin.”

Arthur danced his way out of the kitchen and Sam motioned for Martin to sit down and rest his shaky legs.

      “I’m proud of you, Martin.  I know it wasn’t easy to be here for all of that, but it helped Arthur a lot.  I’m glad he’s got someone like you in his life…”

Martin wasn’t expecting the compliment, so the words took him by surprise.  Arthur lucky to have him… it was the other way round, actually.

      “No, I didn’t get it backwards.  I mean, yeah, you are definitely one of the lucky ones for finding a prize like that boy, but don’t ever sell yourself short for what you give to him.  It would be easy for him to fall in with someone who saw him as a nice little thing to have around the house to take orders and keep things clean, but you respect him.  See him for who he really is and value his talents.  He _is_ very lucky to have you and I expect an invitation for that wedding of yours or you’ll find something in punch at your reception that will turn your bowels to water.”

      “Do you enjoy reading people’s minds?  I thought only Sherlock and Mycroft found that a good time.”

      “Amateurs.  And yes I do.  It saves a lot of time when talking to someone I don’t really want to talk to.”

Martin snorted at the grinning doctor, but secretly gave a smile back even if the man couldn’t see it.  It was nice to have someone to think _he_ was a person someone would be lucky to have.

      “I’m back!  Oh, and it’s brilliant!  There’s a big piece of something that looks like it came from a spaceship in the sitting room and the man who brought it said I could get a picture of the inside of my head if I wanted it!  And I said yes!  I get a picture of my brain… I get a picture of my brain… brain brain brain brain braaaaaain…”

      “And you made that a song, too.  Is there no limit to your abilities, kid?  Well, stop standing there and take this picture and then we’ll get your brain photo.  Play your cards right and I’ll get an x-ray machine over here and give you some bone pictures, too.”

      “Brilliant!  This is turning into a great day!  And, I nearly forgot the bears!  Oh, this is the best day ever!  We even made you one, Doctor Sam, and you can take a nap with him later if you’re not feeling well because of your cut.”

Arthur started snapping pictures of Sam’s injury and Martin just gave the doctor a ‘don’t ask’ shake of his head.

      “Ok, that sounds good.  Now, you ready?”

      “I believe I am.  I’ve got lots of pictures and oh!  did you want to keep your shirt or…”

      “Screw the shirt.  Into the trash can it goes.  Same for the jacket and I’ll give you my pants, too, if you’ve got room in there.  Brown… what the fuck was that moron thinking putting brown on this monument to sexiness?”

This time it was to Arthur that Martin gave his ‘don’t ask’ shake and then motioned Arthur to help get Sam to his feet.

      “Martin, think you can rustle me up a respectable shirt of some kind?  Bring me anything brown and you won’t live to see tomorrow.”

      “Mycroft might have something that’ll fit.”

      “Oh god, I’ll get cooties for sure, now.  Find the least cootie-ridden thing you can, at least.  Arthur, let’s go watch the brain machine prove that Skinny’s got an empty head.”

      “I’m not sure that can actually happen, Doctor Sam.  I am fairly certain you need your brain to see and talk and Mycroft can do both of those things.”

      “Ever think about medical school, kid?”

__________

Arthur was still feeling very proud of himself as he and Sam joined the others in the sitting room and heard the combined gasps when they saw the extent of Sam’s injury.

      “What the… christ Sam!  Why didn’t you come and get me!”

      “Because I wanted someone with real medical talent, so I brought Arthur.  Kid’s a natural.  Bet you can’t tell where my work ends and his begins?  Huh?  Can’t can you?  Natural, I tell you.”

      “Arthur helped with the suturing?”

      “And the shooting!  I got to give Doctor Sam lots of little shots and then helped with the sewing while he drank.  And I took lots of pictures!”

John walked over and inspected the injury, hissing at just how bad it really was.  He should have told Sam to get stuffed and checked up on him.  This was bad, as in tiny bit deeper and he wouldn’t have made it out of that house bad.  Idiot really should be resting, but of course… not Sam the Magnificent.  Not when he had the chance to show everyone how indestructible he was.  However, John had to admit, although he _could_ tell where Sam had handed off the needle, Arthur had done a _very_ good job with his share of the sutures.

      “Is there a reason you are choosing to repulse us all with your vile display, doctor?”

      “Actually, Sherlock, it’s because you’re ugly and your mother dresses you funny.”

      “That makes absolutely no sense!”

      “I’m drunk, so deal.”

      “But not really because Doctor Sam said that he could drink lots and still be a good doctor and you can’t be a good doctor when you’re drunk.  Hi Mycroft!  how’s your head?  After you get your pictures taken, I get a turn, but don’t rush.  I don’t mind waiting.”

Mycroft felt the corners of his lips rising of their own accord and used that bit of amusement to hold back the door of the sheer anger seeing that infernal doctor and the full extent of the damage he’d received.  The blood had obscured so much…  he should never have postponed treatment!   The fool.  The asinine, addle brained, juvenile, dimwitted _idiot_ of a fool!  He was officially revoking his gratitude in light of this buffoonishness. However, young Arthur _did_ do an exemplary job with the suturing…  And why did Martin have one of his… oh, the icing had arrived for his cake.

      “This should fit.  Don’t roll your eyes at me, Mycroft.  It’s this or watch him parade around like that.  Is that what you really want?”

That _would_ be the death of him.

      “Very well, Martin, however please have it burned the moment it leaves his body.”

      “Skinny, you need therapy.  Seriously, maybe that will help loosen you up.”

      “And you needed swift medical treatment, but neither of us appears to be positioned to gain what we desire.”

      “For this?  I’ve gotten paper cuts worse than this.”

      “Sam, as a doctor and what I hope is a friend, can I at least get you to take it easy for a couple of days?”

      “As easy as it’s possible to take it babysitting two babies, Johnny-boy.  Between the extra diapers and bottles…”

      “I’m moving in.”

      “John!  I have had quite enough of Mycroft’s presence.  I refuse to tolerate another round of cohabitation.”

      “Then you can go home and keep Mrs. Hudson company.”

      “That will not help me when I want to have my sexual urges satisfied.”

      “Thank you for that, Sherlock.   I hadn’t had my daily ration of embarrassment yet.”

      “There is nothing embarrassing about sex.”

      “Ok, stopping this conversation in its tracks.  Let it be known to all who care that I will be staying here for a couple of days and if Sherlock Holmes wants to do something about his urges then he’s staying, too.”

      “John, I believe I would like my lethal injection at this point, if it is not too much trouble.”

      “Calm down, Mycroft.  I don’t give free shows, so you’re safe.”

      “But would you, Johnny old pal of mine?  I’ve got a twenty somewhere that I’ll happily toss into the kitty.”

      “Doctor Sam, are you being silly?  You can’t toss money into a cat.  I’m not even sure they would eat it if you put a little piece of fish on top.  Maybe you’d better sit down for a minute and wait for the silliness to pass.”

Sam accepted Martin’s help getting the shirt on his back and made a show of running his hands all over the fabric until Mycroft pronounced him an infant.  He’d stay tonight to make sure everything was alright on this front then go home and sleep for eighty or ninety hours.  As cool as he was playing it, this was the nastiest injury he’d had in a _long_ time and he really needed to take things easy for it to heal properly.  First step, get a bandage over the stitches.  Second step, another raid of Mycroft’s booze.  Third step, park his ass in a chair after studying Mycroft’s scans and not move for awhile.  He could send Arthur out for a sandwich if he got hungry.

      “I’ll be sitting soon enough, don’t you worry.  Now, let’s get Mycroft on that gurney so he can have his glamor shots taken.  Get some copies printed out for you, too.

      “Really?  Brilliant!  I’m going to have to start a new scrapbook.  I’ve got pictures of Greg’s stitches and yours and now I’ll have Mycroft’s brain and mine.  Skip!  I want pictures of your brain, too.”

John threw Sherlock a look to prevent any comments and one to Sam to say that if he tried to assist in any way besides giving verbal encouragement he’d be worrying about more than a knife wound.

      “Arthur can help _me_ with this, thank you.  Mycroft want to hop on and we’ll get this over with?  Then anyone can have a turn who wants one.  And that includes you, Sherlock.”

      “Really?  I mean… I suppose it might offer _some_ scientific interest.”

      “Then get in the queue.  Mycroft, Arthur, Martin and you.”

      “And you, John.”

      “I respond with no.”

      “I want a scan of your brain.”

      “No.”

      “Arthur is getting one of Martin’s.”

      “What?  How is that relevant?”

      “Oh please, Doctor Watson!  Then I can have copies of yours and Mr. Sherlock’s for my scrapbook.  This is brilliant!  Oh, Doctor Sam, I want your brain, too.  Do you think you could do that?  I mean, not if it hurts you or anything but wouldn’t that be amazing?”

If he had ever laughed at how easily Arthur could get the others to do whatever he wanted, Sam wasn’t laughing now.  There really just wasn’t any way he was going to tell the kid no.  He’d feel like a black-hearted puppy-kicker…

      “I think I can manage it, Arthur.  And so can John.  Everyone can have a brain scan and then maybe we can find out which piece holds the sense of humor.  It’ll be easy since John and Mycroft won’t have one.”

      “Hurray!  Brain pictures of everyone!”

Mycroft accepted John’s arm to help stand and steady himself and thought about the next day or so.  Apparently the American was not going to be courteous and take his insanity to his own home now that he had satisfied his ridiculous need for a show of what he believed was termed ‘macho.’  Sherlock would be ever-present so long as John made this his home.  His own health status was fine on paper, but he was nearly at the point of actually asking for some form of pain reliever as every part of his body was beginning to riotously clamor for attention.  First step, CT scan.  Second step, return to bed as soon as possible and blame his weakness on headache-generated mental confusion.  Third step, no matter the opposition, evict everyone from Gregory’s room for a period of no less than one hour so he could enjoy some uninterrupted time alone with his Detective Inspector.  More than anything, that was what his body and mind were craving and, now and then, it was permissible to indulge one’s cravings.

      “Alright, Mycroft… you ready for your close up?”

      “I believe I am.  However, John, I would appreciate it greatly if you did not peddle my images to the paparazzi.”

      “I’ll do my best, but I can’t vouch for Sherlock.  He’s been wanting a new microscope and they’re not cheap.”

      “Oh heavens… well, then do ensure that you capture my ‘good side.’ “


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some discussions between our boys...

      “I’m only agreeing to leave you two alone since you promised not to do anything that would make my medical degree burst into flames.  Just try and remember that you both need quiet and rest and if I have to _make_ that happen, I won’t hesitate.”

      “Mycroft, did you hear anything?  I thought I might have picked up a high-pitched whining coming from somewhere in the room, but I can be sure.”     

      “Sam’s out of commission, Greg, so I’m in charge of your care and feeding.  And your beer line.”

      “Oh it’s you, John!  Sorry, must have got a case of ringing in my ears.”

      “John, Gregory and I will be fine.  He has had a trying day and I shall gladly admit that a substantial quantity of rest is at the very top of my current slate of goals.  Now, if you would be so kind…”

John had suffered Sam’s intense scrutinizing and re-scrutinizing of the CT scans until the American was convinced that Mycroft wasn’t suffering any form of deeper trauma, so leaving the older Holmes brother unattended for awhile wasn’t a terrible concern.  However, given the tendency and ability for both Mycroft and Lestrade to completely ignore any form of medical advice, he really would rather sit in the corner and pretend to be a very unobtrusive chair rather than completely leave them alone for the time Mycroft had insisted upon.

      “Fine, but after your mandated hour, I will be peeking in to see if everything’s ok.  And by ok, I mean exactly as I left things.  Just… just try and not to make my job any harder, will you?”

John knew his steely glare had nothing on Mycroft’s, but he gave it his best shot anyway before leaving the two injured men alone for, what both believed, was extremely necessary couple’s time.

      “Before he gets back, I’m definitely rumpling myself up just to make him seethe.”

      “Gregory Lestrade, you will leave your appearance pristine and not expend valuable energy on a childish prank.”

      “Yes, Mum.  Sorry I got all pranky on you like that.”

      “If anyone shall dishevel themselves, it shall be me.  I have far greater range of motion and can affect a much more convincing debauchment.”

His lover’s giggle was nearly as good as John’s pain medication for soothing Mycroft’s tired and battered body.  Not that he would make confession to anyone, but the simple act of walking to and from the sitting room had been both agonizing and draining and he was quite content to lay in this moderately acceptable bed and not move a muscle until moving said muscles didn’t encourage him to make noises of a most embarrassing nature.

      “I remember the first time we really talked… there was something, and I couldn’t have put my finger on it if I’d tried, but there was _something_ that told me you had a fantastic sense of humor under that suit.  And I was right.  Even with a broken brain you can still make me laugh.”

Mycroft was actually very surprised his sense of humor hadn’t atrophied to a shriveled husk after years of virtual disuse, but so long as his Detective Inspector found it enjoyable, he would strive every day to display at least some attempt at wit.  With Arthur’s likely daily communications, he would have abundant opportunities for practice before he performed before his partner.

      “And I shall endeavor to do so regularly.  Perhaps I should purchase a book of pertinent witticisms to begin my studies.”

      “Actually had one of those when I was a kid.”

      “Oh, I would not have thought your so-called funny bone would require supplementation.”

      “Nah, it was great scripted material.  Lots of jokes that were completely stupid and perfect for making seven year-olds howl with laughter.  Me and my mates would sit there and read each one to see who could make it sound the funniest.  This usually just involved adding in some burps or farts, but it kept us occupied and our Mum’s completely convinced we were all changelings or something.”

The mental picture of a small Gregory Lestrade laughing and perpetrating a wealth of childhood mischief made Mycroft promise himself that he would immediately begin collecting any and all photographs or films of his love as a young boy.  Or, frankly, documentation of any stage of his life.  Perhaps Arthur could curate the collection and enshrine it in an appropriate manner to showcase his Gregory’s life.  And… it was not something he ever gave any thought, but perhaps the Detective Inspector would enjoy viewing artifacts of Mycroft’s own youth.  They existed, although they were never exposed to any eyes but his, and his own review of the material had not occurred for many years.  Yes, it was likely time for a little light to shine on that period of his life.  Perhaps that light would chase away some of the shadows.

      “I am certain it was extremely enjoyable.  Now, you must answer me truthfully, my dear… how are you faring after today’s less-than-placid schedule?”

      “Better.  Not the best, but better.  Now that I know you’re head’s not in worse shape than John and Sam predicted, I feel a lot better than I did.  I’m not going to lie and say that you didn’t worry me near to death, though.  I know how you’d feel if something happened to your ability to think and that… that really scared me.  What you’d go through if something damaged your brain permanently, how you’d feel… yeah, I was pretty scared about all of it.  On top of being scared about just the being hurt part.”

      “It is comforting that you know me so well, Gregory, and understand the implications of certain disabilities.  However, John assures me that there shall be no lasting issue, though there shall be a period or greater or lesser time that I may experience small, shall we say, smudges on my clarity of thought.  It will pass in due time, though.”

      “Yeah, well, we know that _now_.  You don’t… you’re not out there doing this sort of thing often, are you?  I mean actually being the field and putting yourself on the line?”

      “It is a rare event anymore.  In my youth it was a more common occurrence, but I find my efforts, now, far more effective and efficient directing such operations rather than participating in them myself.”

      “Good.”

      “Not that a basic administrative meeting cannot turn violent.  You would not wish to be present when budgetary issues are discussed.  It is a standing policy that medical personnel be on call to handle the aftermath of that particular gladiatorial combat.”

Lestrade giggled in his bed and pictured a group of middle-aged, expensively-suited men attacking each other with ancient weapons.  Of course, Mycroft would emerge victorious, just like he did today.  And that’s what Lestrade had to focus on… Mycroft was Mycroft.  He just didn’t lose.

      “I’ve sat through a couple of meetings like that myself.  I guess that’s why I avoid them as often as I can anymore.  Rather be out there getting my hands dirty than sitting behind my desk or sitting around a table feeling the hot air blowing around.”

      “Ah, the tropical waft of committee stagnation.  Certainly not the proper atmosphere for someone as vital as you.  And I am confident you shall once again trod the streets of our fair city doing you best to keep them safe for the citizenry.”

      “I’m going to try.  Just don’t get yourself killed before you get to pack my lunch for my first day back, ok?”

      “I shall make it a point of pride to see you safely off for your return to duty.”

      ‘Ok, then I guess I can forgive you this one little bash to the skull.  How’s that feeling anyway?”

Mycroft’s natural tendency to downplay any form of physical infirmity quickly stood up to take charge of the discussion, but the remainder of his being wrestled it back into its chair.  His Gregory would not appreciate stoicism at this juncture.

      “Rather like my head had been substituted for a cricket ball during a particularly vigorous match.”

      “Ouch.  Want some of my drugs?  Good stuff…”

      “I believe a small headache tablet will suffice.”

      “You’re a funny man.  When John comes back, I’m going to tell him to hook you up to a nice drip like I have.”

      “Pish and tosh.  I prefer my unfettered ambulation to the pharmaceutically-mediated abatement of the distal fringes of my pain.”

      “Well, if that’s not the final proof your brain’s fine, I don’t know what is.  Have no idea what you just said, except that I think I get to keep all my nice drugs to myself.”

      “Consider it a small test of my mental fortitude.”

      “You got top marks.  Now, how about something on the telly?  You choose.”

      “Hmmm… perhaps an offering to commemorate my day’s clandestine activities.”

      “James Bond it is, then.”

      “Sean Connery?”

      “Of course.”

      “Then we are in agreement.”

      “You know… a little spy roleplay when I’m out of this bed could be fun.”

Oh.  Now that was a titillating idea.  And goals were a valuable tool for his Gregory’s recovery…

      “What an intriguing suggestion.  I do believe I can accommodate that quite handily.  Costumes?”

      “Yep.”

      “Manipulatives?”

      “What?”

      “Props?”

      “Oh yeah.”

      “I shall begin making preparations.”

      “We can get some ideas from our film.”

      “Very efficient, my dear.  However, when I am finished, you may want to make, instead, a film of your own.”

      “A sexy one?”

      “The very thing.”

      “There are _so_ many reasons I love you, Mycroft.”

      “And I do intend to keep it that way.”

__________

      “Sherlock, I’m going to have a quick shower.  Can you do a favor for me and keep an eye on things?”

      “Define _things_.”

      “Pay attention for any shouts coming from the hospital ward… where are Arthur and Martin?”

      “Arthur is preparing a meal in the kitchen and Martin is assisting.”

      “Ok, good.  Keep them out of the hospital ward for awhile so Mycroft can get some rest.   Oh, and I need for you to check on Sam.”

      “For what possible reason.”

      “For the reason that if _I_ track him down in his cave, he’ll throw something at me and he’s less likely to do that if _you_ pop in.  And here, give him a couple of these and try to pry the bottle out of his hand, if you can.”

John pulled a vial out of his pocket and shook out two pills that he passed over to Sherlock.

      “He is not likely to take these.”

      “Not while you’re watching maybe, but he’ll do it later.  Sam is hot-headed, insists on painting himself as a damned Superman, but under it all, he’s not stupid.  And he’s hurting like bollocks now that things have calmed down a bit.  Just give him the pills and try to see if he’s bled through Mycroft’s shirt yet.  Later on, I’ll brave the lion’s den and see if he’ll let me take another look at that wound, but he’ll be alright for the moment.  Ok?  I’ll be back in a bit.”

Before Sherlock could offer any objection, John turned and made his way to a very necessary shower, both for cleaning off the day’s grime, but also to give himself a little time to relax and decompress.  Today was the kind of day anyone would hate, but a doctor especially.  Already, he was walking a shaky line treating one friend, but at least he had Sam’s backup opinion for this stage of Greg’s recovery.   Now he had three friends under his care and his backup was one of them.  And, of everyone in their little group, it was likely the three most difficult patients, Sherlock being exempted since John could dangle sex in front of his face to secure at least some cooperation.  Greg, Mycroft and Sam… they delighted in withholding cooperation… at least the house was quiet right now and, god willing, the Sherlock-Sam showdown wouldn’t change that.  Too much.

__________

Sherlock considered getting Arthur or Martin to deliver the foolish American’s medication, but decided that action would earn him a lecture and John’s lectures were not pleasant, especially when he had no other matters to which to direct his attention to tune out the background vocalizations.  A few minutes of looking and he found his target in Mycroft’s study, poking the logs in the fireplace rather than relaxing.  Sherlock was well aware that his standards for behavior did not always match societal expectations, but even he knew this was stupid.

      “You are a stupid individual.”

      “As I have been told many, many times.  How you doing, Sherlock?  John too scared to come in here himself?”

      “In sum, yes.  He mentioned wishing to avoid being the target for projectiles.”

      “That’s because he _has_ before.  Smart man.”

      “Why are you not sitting?”

      “Honestly, because I got cold.  Side effect of adrenaline purge, blood loss, too much booze and being fucking tired.  Thought I’d get a little warmth going.  And look, it is!  So, come sit with me awhile and warm your toes.”

Sam took a slow seat on the sofa and Sherlock decided that properly fulfilling the spirit of John’s wishes required that he do the same.  And, he had to admit, the fire was agreeable, even in the properly-warmed house.

      “So, what’s up, Bony?  How you doing?”

      “You have asked that of me twice.”

      “Then answer me before I make it a magic three.”

      “I don’t understand why you would expect me to be anything other than fine.”

      “Maybe because your brother had a very rough day?”

      “The nature of Mycroft’s day is of no relevance to me.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because the less association I have with him, the better is my life.”

      “That’s a load of horseshit.”

      “I would disagree.”

      “Of course you would.  It’s easy to disagree.  It’s so easy, it’s one of the first thing little kids learn to do.  A lot harder to try to find ways to make it so that you _can_ agree.”

      “Much of what you say makes absolutely no sense.  How are you, in any way, able to communicate with people who depend on clearly-given medical directives?”

      “Ok, let me put it this way.  You tend to simply disagree with people because it’s quick, puts the burden on them to try and get you to see their point of view and postpones you from having to engage further in the conversation.  It’s a good technique if you want to keep folks at arm’s length, but it falls flat on its ass when you try it on someone who sees through your nonsense.  So, how about we try this again?  Your brother had rough day.  A dangerous day… and suffered a nasty injury.  It’s ok to feel off-kilter because of that.”

      “I will not argue the point, however, I will reiterate that I am not significantly bothered by the fact.”

Sherlock had no idea why the doctor’s eyes darkened, nor the meaning of the small and rather sad smile on the man’s face, but he _was_ sure that it did not make him comfortable.

      “You and your brother really don’t get along, do you?”

      “Is it required that we do?”

      “No… but it’s a shame, that’s all.”

      “I do not see why.  He has his life and I have mine.  There is really no reason for them to overlap.  When they do, it is usually not a pleasant event for either of us.”

      “Is there a reason why?”

Sherlock was taken aback by the question and had no idea how he could express a lifetime of… _life_ … in something concise enough to satisfy the prying American.

      “If you are seeking a single touchstone event that shaped my and Mycroft’s relationship, then you shall be disappointed.”

      “I’m not that dense, son.  I’m just wondering why you two aren’t better together.  Seems a shame to me.  I mean, I know he’s got some years on you and that can make things tough, but you’re a good kid and Skinny’s a decent sort…”

      “I would question your definition of ‘decent.’ “

That was not a sad look now.  That was a look that told Sherlock in no uncertain terms that he had taken a step onto very thin ice.  It was a look he had learned the unsettlingly hard way from the man now sharing his life.

      “Explain yourself, boy.”

      “As you wish.  Mycroft is not a person to whom the term ‘decent’ is appropriately applied.”

      “Oh.  I see.  And tell me how the fuck you know that since you just told me you avoid him like the goddam plague.”

      “I am not entirely divorced from knowing him.”

      “Or are you just not divorced from knowing the parts that you want to know and the rest can go screw itself.”

Sherlock was not about to make mention of the conversation between himself and his brother on this very topic.  It was absolutely irrelevant.

      “I am certain that if you interrogate Mycroft, you will find he is of very like mind.”

      “I’ll do that.  And I will give him just as much shit as I’m giving you.  Now, can you give me any firm reason you say Mycroft’s not decent?”

The most disturbing thing about the entire situation was that Sherlock was not entirely certain how he had gotten himself into this conversation when he was only tasked to deliver aspirin.

      “Very well.  He is amoral.”

      “So are you, so we’re back to ground zero.  Try again.”

Insufferable!

      “He is sexually promiscuous.”

      “Really?  A+ for Skinny!  Seriously, that is the best news I could have heard.  My oh my… wouldn’t have thought he’d had in him.  But I guess the important thing was that he had it in _someone_ , am I right?”

      “You disgust me.”

      “His promiscuity partners all adults?”

      “What!  Of course!”

      “Any rape?”

      “Are you insane?  Mycroft would never!”

      “Now that’s the way to step up for your brother.  Good.  Ok, let me understand this… no kids and the fun’s consensual.  How does that make him indecent?”

Because… it simply wasn’t proper.

      “It is simply not proper.”

      “Do you feel as embarrassed as I feel having listened to you saying that?”

Yes.

      “Of course not.  The truth is simply the truth.”

      “Look, your brother might have catted around, and again he just rose about one billion percent in my respect ledger, but answer me this… you think that he’s still going to do that.  Fuck his way through London?”

      “…………”

      “Don’t pretend you’re thinking, just answer me and be honest.  I’ll know if you’re not and you will suffer more holy hellfire than you can possibly imagine because of it.  One day, I’ll tell you what happened with the hospital director, the Tupperware cereal bowl and the bait-and-switch he tried to pull on me for a job.  He’s lucky I’m also tops in the field of reconstructive surgery.”

      “If only to stem the flow of your hyperbole… no.  I do not believe that Mycroft will continue on with his wantonness.  He is surprisingly, though exceedingly, devoted to Lestrade.”

      “Good, that’s my take, too, and it’s all that really matters now.  Let me ask you, then… what did Lord Narrowass have to say about how our op took a nosedive?”

The American’s non sequiturs were tiresome, but, unfortunately, usually led to something that might be charitably called a point.

      “He said that the structure of the situation broke down when his minions arrived on the scene to take the meeting’s participants into custody.”

      “Ok… two billion percent in my respect book that guy shoots up.  Let me fill you in on something, Bony.  Your brother made the decision to potentially compromise his hard work to spare a little girl getting molested by one of the bastards we were in there with.  He didn’t have to do it… honestly, I doubt it would have made a bit of difference in that girl’s life if he hadn’t, as many times as she’d been raped by one pig or another.  But he did it because he knew it actually _did_ make a difference.  That was one time that little girl didn’t have to suffer because now there was someone there to stand up for her.  And that person was your brother.  So, next time you say Mycroft’s not decent, you think about that little girl and what he was willing to risk just to make sure she stayed safe.”

Sherlock had no idea what to say, so he opted to simply say nothing.  A single action was not going to impact his opinion of his brother.  However… it was something he would not have expected, nor would have been in a position to ever find out if the ridiculous doctor had not saw fit to inform him.

      “Here’s the deal, Sherlock… brothers don’t always see eye to eye.  And that’s ok.  You can dislike things he does and he can dislike things _you_ do.  You’ve both got a history of stuff you’ve done you’re not proud of and that’s life.  That’s just the way it goes.  You don’t have to be best friends, but maybe it’s time to at least start not being so hostile.  And I’m not trying to play favorites here, but it’s fucking hard to be an older brother.  You grow up with all the responsibility on your shoulders and even if your bratty little brother catches hell for something, you catch twice the hell for the fact he did it.  And that’s on top of the hell you give yourself because you want the best for him and when anything happens to screw with that it burns your gut like you swallowed a lit cigarette.  Now, I am going to bend Skinny’s ear on this, because I think you two have fucked around long enough and now you have to step up to be a better part of this weird communal thing you’ve got going.”

      “You should enter politics as much as you enjoy making long-winded speeches.”

      “The funny part was that you didn’t interrupt, snort or start up one of your performance-art pieces and I’m not going to insult you by saying I think you were being polite.  Just give it some thought, ok.  I’m not asking anything you’re not already great at doing – thinking – so that should be super simple for you.  Now, was there a real reason you came in here or did you just want to hang around with the most entertaining person in this house?”

Another thing Sherlock couldn’t figure out.  He did not deal well with individuals who saw fit to lecture him, John and, perhaps, Lestrade being the exceptions, however, a man infinitely more infantile than anyone he had ever met had the ability to make him sit there and accept a scolding.  Perhaps the doctor was correct.  He _was_ off-kilter from the events of the day.  That would be attributed to the extra stress placed on John for that was the only possible reason for it.

      “I was being polite.”

And a third thing… why did he join in when the American began to laugh?

      “I like you, Bony.  You’re definitely a good kid.  Here, have a swig of this.  It’s older than me and a hell of a lot more smooth.”

      “I am actually supposed to divest you of any alcohol.”

      “John’s a friggin’ nun.”

      “He _can_ demonstrate an exceptional degree of prudery for certain matters.”

      “Yeah, so you’re not getting my booze, but I _will_ take the pain pills you’ve got hiding somewhere.”

Sherlock pulled the two tablets from his pocket and handed them over to the doctor.

      “Two?  Isn’t John the cutest thing?”

      “I believe he is taking the prudent route, given your incipient alcoholism.”

      “Yeah, can’t really fault him there.  I’ve had my hands wrapped around something since I was about… well, at least I made it into the double-digits before I started up, but I’ve been able to hold to this side of needing rehab.  It was easier when I had my family, probably like it’s easier for you now that you’ve got John... but I have to watch it sometimes.  I don’t fool myself about that.”

Sherlock wasn’t surprised that the doctor knew of his personal issues, they would surely have been part of the discussions between him and John, but he _was_ surprised that the doctor would so freely discuss his own problems with substance use.

      “There _is_ more incentive to keep to my agreement with Lestrade to remain free from drugs now that John is present.  He would not be pleased if I even occasionally indulged myself, though Lestrade would never be the wiser.”

      “And good for him.  You’ve got a beyond first-rate mind and there’s no reason to do anything to fuck it up.  I mean, what would London do if you lost your marbles?”

Finally, the doctor said something that was perfectly true on all levels.

      “That is another powerful incentive.”

      “Good for you having a proper sense of your place in the world.  Now, want to share this before I drink it all?  It’s a nice fire… hate to have to enjoy it alone.”

Sam waggled the bottle and Sherlock only hesitated a moment before taking a drink.

      “I am also supposed to check that you are not losing additional blood.”

      “Oh, ok… here.”

Sam lifted his shirt so Sherlock could see the bandage covering his side.

      “There is blood soaking through.”

      “Blood and body ooze.  Nothing unexpected.”

      “To that degree?”

      “Oh… yeah.  I mean, well, sort of.”

      “I fear for the safety of your anyone under your incompetent care.”

      “Wow, that completely failed to sting.  Just so you know, doctors make the worst patients.  But, probably, and only probably, I should have squirted some tissue adhesive in there or tried a few different seaming techniques, but what the hell.  You only live once and why not make it interesting.”

      “That is the first non-idiotic thing you have said concerning your predicament.”

      “Woohoo!  Popped my non-idiot cherry.  That deserves a celebration.  Mycroft got any brandy?”

      “Very good brandy, actually.”

      “Well, crack it open.  And we’ll even use glasses since it’s a special occasion.”

      “Mycroft will appreciate the gesture.”

      “I’m sure he will.  Get some coasters, too, and we’ll really make him swoon.”

__________

      “Are you sure you’re up to cooking, Arthur?  You’ve had a hard day as it is and you really don’t need to keep working.”

      “But I love cooking!  This isn’t tiring at all, especially when I have all of this… everything… to work with.  It’s so much fun, I can’t think of it as work.  Not for a minute.  And, besides… I could actually use a nice snack, so this way I get to have fun and get a snack at the same time.”

      “I can’t argue you’re not being efficient, just try and not tire yourself too much, alright?”

      “I promise.   I do admit to being a little tired, but it’s more brain tired than body tired.  Brains!  I still cannot believe I have brain pictures of everybody!  I made sure that they’ve got everyone’s name on them so I know who’s who and I can’t wait to really sit down and look at everyone’s brain.  I want to know them as well as I know faces!  Because your brain is at least as important as your face!”

      “Oh, I absolutely agree.  And when your mother calls you witless, you can show her your brain picture and prove that’s not true.”

      “Brilliant!  Proof is a very good thing to have, too.  As a part-time detective’s assistant, I would have to say that’s at the top of the list of things you should have when capturing a criminal.”

      “I suspect you’re right.  Not many criminals get put away based on someone’s opinion.  At least, I hope that’s not the case.  You can ask Greg about that.”

      “I will.  Once he gets a chance to rest.  Poor Greg… it must have been terrible hearing Mycroft was hurt.”

      “From experience, I can say it’s worse than anything.  When we got your emergency signal in Fitton, it was the worst thing I’ve ever felt.  None of what Sherlock put me through came anywhere close to the awful feeling of getting that call.  It was like my entire life came to a grinding halt.  All I knew was that you were in trouble, horrible trouble, and I could barely breathe or think or see.  I don’t even remember much about getting in the car or the drive out to you…  it’s the worst, Arthur.  The very worst.”

Arthur put down armful of ingredients and took his fiancé in a very long hug.

      “I’m sorry I scared you, Skip.”

      “I’m sorry you had to go through that.  And all of this today.  You had to sew someone up… I still can’t believe you did that.”

Arthur stepped back and grinned before launching into a little dance, which Martin had say, was getting to be fairly impressive.

      “I did!  I really wasn’t sure if I could because… oh, it looked so awful, but Doctor Sam’s a very good teacher and, well, I think he might have hypnotized me at first so I didn’t get sick, but after that it was definitely all me.  And I did a good job – even Doctor Watson said so.”

      “You did a fabulous job.  Giving injections and doing the stitches… I couldn’t even look at that mess, but you dived right in.  You can’t imagine how proud of you I am, love.  And not just for today… that’s what you always do, you dive right in and that amazes me.  I’m just worried you’ll be bored when we get back to our normal lives and there aren’t adventures and challenges to keep you happy.”

      “Silly Skipper… all I need to be happy is you.  And there are lots of adventures and challenges in Fitton!  Well, not in Fitton, but all the places we fly.  You have to admit that we do find lots of things that don’t go exactly as planned and it’s quite the adventure making things right, even though Douglas does do a lot of the work, but we do too, so I’m never bored.  And now we have people to talk to and tell our stories to and share all our fun and they get to share theirs with us.  So, when we go home, which isn’t tomorrow right because that’s not really… I’m not quite ready yet if that’s ok… but when we do go home, it’s going to be fine.  Better than fine because we’ll both be back flying and we have a wedding to plan… WEDDING!... and maybe start looking to see if there are any little houses we like and… no matter where we are, Skip, it’s going to be brilliant, as long as we’re together.”

Arthur gave his Skip another big hug, then decided a kiss would be nice and gave one of those, too.

      “You are a very wise man, Arthur Shappey.”

      “Brilliant!  I can be in the Christmas play with the baby Jesus and you could take a video of that for us to show everyone here.”

      “We can look for your robe when we get home.”

      “Hurray!”

      “And what are we hurraying about?”

      “Doctor Watson!  I get to be in a play with Jesus!”

John knew to only smile and nod agreeably and share a glance with Martin, who looked precisely as happy as a man fully in love with a wonderful person.

      “Good, that should be a unique experience.  And it looks like you’re making something nice and interesting.  Don’t be surprised if Mycroft and Sam don’t eat anything, though.  Their appetites might be off for the next few days.”

      “I hadn’t thought of that.  It’s no problem, I’ll just cut down what I was making.  We don’t really need eight different things to eat if only a few of us are actually eating.”

      “That sounds like a good plan.  Has Sherlock stuck his head in here yet?”

      “Not yet, and Skip and I would have noticed because Mr. Sherlock is rather easy to see no matter where he is.”

      “You lost your partner, John?  Pretty sloppy of you.”

      “Honestly, I’m looking forward to a few peaceful minutes with a nice cup of tea and maybe a nibble before dinner, so if Sherlock’s occupied somewhere, I’m happier for it.  My only worry is that if Sherlock’s gone missing, it might be because Sam’s taken him off somewhere and we’ll be getting a call from the police in an hour or so.”

      “Oh, I’m not sure Doctor Sam could go very far, Doctor Watson.  He was a bit wobbly after he got his brain picture taken and I’m fairly sure Mr. Sherlock could have stopped him from going out to get in any trouble.  And I do have to say that Doctor Sam could probably get into _quite_ a bit of trouble if he wanted to, but Mr. Sherlock would be able to figure out how to keep that from happening.  Or at least he’d go and get you, because Doctor Sam might listen to you more since you’re a doctor, too.  Or Mycroft because he’d start arguing with Doctor Sam and that could go on for a very long time until Doctor Sam fell asleep and then it wouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

      “I think there’s no question Mycroft could orate someone to sleep, actually, so good for you thinking of a way for him to use his powers for good.  I was wondering, though, it’s going to be pretty quiet around here tomorrow... what plans do you two have?”

Martin cut a glance at his fiancé and knew the only answer that would keep Arthur happy.

      “We’re having an easy day around here, I think.  I have some reading to catch up on and I’m sure Arthur has a few projects he’d like to work on.  I mean, if that’s alright with you, love?”

Arthur’s huge smile made both John and Martin smile in return.  It was nearly impossible not to smile when Arthur lit up the room.

      “Brilliant!  That sounds perfect.  I do have some projects I want to work on and Doctor Sam will be here, so I can help you since you’ll have extra patients and I’ll make the meals and… oh this is going to be a great day!  Skip, you have the best ideas…”

John started his tea and shook his head thinking about how chaotic it was actually going to be tomorrow with everyone in the house.  But, it was a chaos that, at least, he had some familiarity dealing with at this point.

      “… and I think it’s time.”

John turned at the ominous announcement and was happy to see that Martin was as confused as he was.”

      “Time?  What are you talking about, love?”

      “Well, I’ve been thinking… we’re getting married.”

      “Wasn’t that already established?”

      “Yes, but… we had a wonderful party to tell Mum we were getting married, and I’ve told my friends and everyone here knows but…”

      “But what?”

      “There’s someone I haven’t told.”

The light went on in Martin’s head and he really wished Arthur was talking about something else.

      “You mean Gordon.”

      “Gordon?”

      “Arthur’s dad, John.  And current holder of the title of world’s worst father.”

      “I don’t think he actually holds a title, Skip.  I’m sure he would have called and told Mum, because, he _is_ a bit boastful about things.”

      “You’re right, he’s just a nasty man and terribly father and doesn’t need a title for it to be true.”

      “Yes, I think that’s definitely more the case.  Normally I don’t like to say bad things about people, Doctor Watson, but… well, Dad isn’t quite a nice person sometimes.”

      “And you’re worried about how he’ll react to hearing that you’re getting married?”

      “I think he might get quite shouty, yes.”

      “You don’t have to tell him, Arthur.  Or at least not until after the ceremony.”

      “No, Skip, I do.  It’s only right that I do and maybe… maybe he’ll be happy.  Maybe he’ll want to come and see me get married and have a good time and... maybe it will be a good thing.”

It was good, Martin thought, that Arthur had faith that Gordon would be something other than an complete arse, but he also knew that things were not going to go as Arthur expected.  But that was part of his job, consoling his fiancé when he met with disappointment and he’d do that job to the absolute best of his abilities.

      “Maybe it _will_ be a good thing.  So you’ll call him tomorrow?”

      “I will.  We’ll be home all day so as soon as I feel ready, I can just pick up the phone and call.  Not that I couldn’t do that anytime with my phone, but I’d rather be here when I do it.”

This look that John and Martin shared said they weren’t particularly happy about the situation, but in agreement that having Arthur make his undoubtedly unpleasant call was best done when he was surrounded by loving and supportive family.

      “Very good strategy.  Now, who’d like tea?  Arthur?  Martin?”

      “I’d like tea!  I can drink it while I make dinner.”

      “A cup for me, too, John.  I can drink it while I _watch_ him make dinner.”

      “So a cup apiece for the lazy people in the kitchen and one for the person doing all the work.  Besides the extra person in the conversation, I’d swear I was at home.”

      “Brilliant!  I love having a home full of friends!”

And when the real aches and pains of two of those friends really hit full force tomorrow, the term _friend_ was going to be used in some profoundly interesting ways, John was very, very certain.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere and very enthusiastic thanks for all the support this story and series have received!

      “You’re not going to win, Johnny-boy, so I don’t know why you’re even trying.”

If John wasn’t only 95% sure that he could physically force the idiotic American into a bedroom he wouldn’t hesitate.  But that 5% was holding him back, because his friend was exactly the kind of person who made that 5% work in his favor.  At least the others weren’t in here to observe this particular discussion.  After a very hearty dinner, Arthur proclaimed it time to relocate to Greg and Mycroft’s room for a long round of company-keeping before the yawns started to outnumber the smiles.  With everyone moving towards their individual beds, John demanded a moment to check Sam’s injury and now the grand argument of who would take the medical night shift had begun.

      “You can’t be this insane.  Even you have to admit that you need sleep!”

      “Does it look like I’m about to drop?  No.  But you do.  And… if you want to know, I don’t plan on coming back for a day or two, so you’ll be pulling extra duty unless you get Mycroft to bring in more help.  Take the night and get some rest, John.”

      “Or, _you_ get started on the rest you need and still not come back for a few days.  That is a _nasty_ injury… you _know_ how nasty it is…”

      “Yeah, I do, and that’s why I’m going to take a day or two to let it start making with the healing.  Right now, it hurts like someone wrapped a splintery stick with barbed wire studded with broken glass and soaked it in salt and vinegar before shoving it into my side and that’s not even the deep ache I’m talking about… So, why in the fuck would you think I’d be able to sleep with that party going on?”

      “A little thing called painkillers and sedatives.”

      “That’s two things.  And I’ll get plenty of both after I get home.  Go curl up with your honey-bunny and have a nice night, ok?  Do some of that life affirming shit like fucking yourselves senseless and then grab a good night’s rest.  If I need you, I’ll come and get you.  And I’ll only take pictures if there’s something going on that’s worth posting online.”

The more Sam moved around and failed to take care of himself the longer it would take for his wound to heal, the more poorly it would heal and the greater the chance for infection or other complications.  The American was very aware of all of this, but John knew his stubbornness was far more powerful than his common sense.

      “Come on, John.  Who’s the odd-man out here?  All the nice couples and me.  Go be a couple with Sherlock tonight.  It’s been a tough day for everyone and it’ll be good to have some time to do the lovey-dovey thing.  Go on… I’ll be fine.”

John just shook his head and wished, not for the first time, that his friend wasn’t quite the immovable object he delighted in being.  But Sam was right, this was not an argument John would win and a tiny, guilty part of the doctor was happy about the fact.  It _had_ been a trying day and a night wrapped in Sherlock’s arms sounded like a little slice of heaven.  That bit of guilt bloomed into something more painful realizing that his friend _was_ the odd-man out and when he finally did go home there would be no one there waiting for him.  No one to help or offer him a pair of arms to soothe away pain.  Maybe this was Sam’s way of coping for the moment, doing something familiar through the worst of the pain to make tomorrow’s loneliness a little more bearable.  Or he was just being a prat.  Either way, John _would_ be getting some rest tonight.

      “Alright, but at least try and take it easy.  With everyone asleep, there’s no reason for you to do anything stupid.”

      “There’s ALWAYS a reason for me to do something stupid.  And I’d do it even if there wasn’t, so there you have it.  Just go before you embarrass yourself any further.”

John slowly shook his head and left Mycroft’s study for the warm bed that was waiting for him.  As soon as he was gone, Sam leaned back for a moment on the sofa and took a few deep breaths to pull together the threads of his energy.  He’d actually almost let John win this fight, what with the pain and the fatigue and the knowledge that it hurt worse and he was more tired because he was getting so damned old.  Not that he was really _that_ old but he was older than any other age he’d been and this one sure as fuck came with more creaks and twinges.  But John needed a little downtime and he would rather be the one to keep his eye on Mycroft tonight, anyway.  John was a good doctor, a very solid practitioner, but he didn’t have nearly the eye that _he_ had for noticing the little things before they became big ones.  He wasn’t lying, though.  Once his ass was out the door tomorrow, that would be that for a good 24-48 hours.  Get in the bed and not move except for a quick pee.  Maybe not even that.  He’d bring an empty bottle home with him to keep by the beside, just in case.

Sam was starting to push himself off the couch with all of the grace and dexterity of a 9-months pregnant female when heard a very small knock on the door that could only be made by one person.  Oh good, a reason to sit awhile longer…

      “Come on in, Arthur.”

      “Brilliant!  You knew it was me even before you knew it was me!  Between you and Mycroft and Mr. Sherlock, I am now becoming convinced that some people _do_ have superpowers, only you’re not allowed to talk about them because other people might not feel very good about themselves because they don’t have any powers, which is actually very nice, so thank you!”

      “Not to burst your bubble, kid, but my only superpower is the ability to make any woman lose her panties just from the brilliance of my smile.”

      “Really?”

      “Hasn’t failed me yet.  Needless to say, I have to be careful about breaking it out in public.  Don’t want any potential dates arrested for public indecency.  That would really kill the mood.”

      “I would say so.  I wonder, though, what would happen if the lady wasn’t actually wearing any knickers?”

      “Arthur, my boy, if you don’t want to go to medical school, I think a philosophy program would work for you.  We’ll talk.”

      “Yeah!  Not that I would stop flying, but I’m sure it would help me be better at my job.”

      “Absolutely, someone gets into an argument about Kierkegaard, you can swoop right in and put the kibosh on their shenanigans in grand style.  Now, am I wrong or are you hiding something behind your back?”

      “Oh!  Right!  Yes… well, I hadn’t given this  to you and I thought now would be a good time since it’s nighttime and teddy’s are especially good at night when you’re trying to sleep…”

Arthur pulled his Doctor Sam bear from behind his back and held it out for his new friend to take.

      “I had to think really hard about how to make your bear look different than Doctor Watson’s because you’re both doctors and there wasn’t really any different outfits for doctors unless I made one a nurse, but there wasn’t a boy nurse outfit, so I had to be creative.  I looked through ALL the options to get the right color and made the biggest bear I could since you’re taller than anyone here.  And I also had to not only get a big bear, but a scruffy bear, since you’re a bit scruffy and rumpled unless you dress up nicely in which case you’re as posh as Mycroft!”

Sam stared at his bear namesake and failed to keep his panty-dropping grin off of his face.  One big, scruffy, silvery bear in a doctor’s coat with a very proper stethoscope around his neck.  On the coat pocket, ‘Doctor Sam’ had been written in large block letters.

      “Doctor Watson has a golden bear and it’s smaller and tidier.  Oh, and it’s got ‘Doctor Watson’ written on it, instead.”

      “It’s amazing, Arthur.  Even without my name on it, I’d be able to tell it was mine, no problem.  You did a great job… real talent for bear-building.  Thank you.  It’s the nicest gift in the world and, now, he’s my roommate.  We’ll be able to sit and watch TV together like a couple of pals and have a right ol’ time.”

      “BRILLIANT!  Oh, that is the most brilliantest of brilliant things.  I forgot that you don’t live with anyone and now you have Doctor Sam Bear to keep you company.  And he’ll love doing all of that!  He could eat breakfast with you and help you if you use a computer and have a wonderful time!  Oh and Skip and I are going to shop for more outfits for our bears, so I’ll get Doctor Sam Bear something, too, so he doesn’t always have to wear his uniform.”

If Arthur wasn’t already madly in love and if Sam had any grown children, he’d be going full-on Dolly Levi matchmaker.  What a great kid… he’d never have to worry about his own kid’s happiness with Arthur Shappey on the job.

      “Well, that’s mighty nice of you.  And Sammy here says thanks.”

      “Sammy!  When he’s in uniform he can be Doctor Sam Bear and when he’s relaxing he’s Sammy Bear.  You really are a very smart person, Doctor Sam.”

      “Just a lot of years of experience making it seem that way, son.  Now, how about you give me a hand up and we can check on the sad and pathetics before you get off to bed.  Martin must be waiting for you…”

      “Yes and no.  Yes, he’ll want go to sleep soon, but no, he’s finishing a chapter of one of his books and I must admit that Skip has a hard time reading when I’m right there with him.”

      “You distract him with your sexiness, don’t you?”

Sam estimated the skin temperature of Arthur’s face went up ten degrees from the sudden blood rush.

      “Uh… well, that is to say… I’m not sure that’s what it is…”

      “Well, I do.  Martin is a lucky man, let me tell you.  Here, give me a boost.”

Arthur shook off his slightly-proud embarrassment and gently helped the doctor to his feet, wincing as sharply as Sam did while they got him vertical.

      “Are you sure you want to stand up?”

      “It’s ok, Arthur.  When you stay still, whether you’re sitting, standing or laying, the nerves get settled and calm down a bit.  Move and you shuffle up the deck and everybody gives you a piece of their mind in a crappy and painful way.  Normal stuff, so don’t worry about it.  I’ll be sitting again in a minute anyway, with good ol’ Sammy to keep an eye on me, so this’ll be over quick.”

      “Well, ok… but you are going to try and rest, won’t you?  You’re not going to feel better until you get to rest and you haven’t done that yet.”

Sam set himself in stiff and painful motion towards Lestrade’s room and had to admit that Arthur was absolutely correct and that his bed at home was calling louder and louder.  But there was time to sleep when he was dead and if these stitches burst or something strange happened, John was only a scream away.

      “Don’t worry.  Once the infirms are asleep, I’ll have some quiet time to just sit back and do a little reading of my own.  That new tablet Skinny got Greg is great for reading.  And for taking breaks to watch Internet porn.”

      “Oh, well as long as you have fun and get some rest… and I’ll make something especially nice for breakfast because you might feel hungry by then and you’d want something to fill up your stomach so you don’t go home with a rumbly tummy.”

      “That sounds real nice.  And I bet you make enough that you could send me packing with a big bag of leftovers, couldn’t you?”

      “I do admit that I tend to make a little more than we need for a single meal.”

      “Good boy, always make sure you’ve got extra in the fridge in case Loki comes around and you need food for a couple of days while you hunker down waiting for the Avengers to show up.”

      “That’s actually very good advice!  I’ll tell Skip that next time he tuts me for cooking so much.”

      “And you can show him the movie so he sees exactly how serious the situation could be.”

      “Brilliant!  I love that film!”

      “Oh, I’m sure you do.”

__________

      “Your continued, hovering presence is not required.”

      “Listen to you whine all feebly and weak.  Ever heard of that book ‘Go the Fuck to Sleep?’  Title kind of sums it up, so be a good little patient and shut up.  Look at your snuggle-wuggle over there.  Out like a light so his body can make a little progress away from dead.  Do the same and I’ll give you a lollipop when you wake up.”

      “Since my health has been verified by you, John and a very expensive piece of medical equipment, there is no reason for you to remain.  I am more than capable of monitoring Gregory’s condition and notifying John if there is a change.”

      “And if you stand up too fast, all your noble plans go down the crapper.  Just deal, Skinny.  I don’t even want to talk to you.  I just want to sit here with Sammy and read, so pipe down and let me do it.”

      “You should not be here.”

      “Oh my god, do you _not_ have a mute button?”

      “I think that question would be more appropriately applied to you.”

      “Seriously, you are disturbing my calm.  Just go to sleep and when you wake up, you might be very lucky and I won’t be here anymore.”

      “You should not be here now, so, again, you fail to raise a valid point.”

      “Want some duct tape over that mouth of yours?”

      “You are grievously injured, yet you refuse to take the appropriate steps…”

      “Old news.  I’m living in the now.”

      “Very well… _now_ you are grievously injured and your refusal to properly care for your health…”

      “Let’s see… right now if something goes wrong, not that it will, I’ve got immediate access to someone who can do a patch job.  No matter what Arthur might think, Sammy here doesn’t have fingers to actually wield any surgical tools, so I can’t really count on him to have my back.”

Mycroft scowled but offered no reply.  This was the only portion of the fool’s argument that had any merit.  It was actually quite easy to forget the severity of the American’s injury and that it should be monitored by a health-care professional, which summarily disqualified Samuel Harris, the most unprofessional health-care provider since the days of leeches and incantations.

      “You will return home the instant John certifies you as no longer needing attention.  And _please_ do not make a juvenile joke about always needing attention.”

      “You are a buzzkill.  Really, suck the air right out of the room.  Go to bed.”

      “I am not in the least fatigued.”

      “I’m pretty sure you think you lie as smoothly as a fresh Brazilian wax job, but you are so wrong.”

      “I beg to differ.”

      “Beg all you want, it won’t get you that lollipop unless I hear some snoring first.”

      “I do not snore.”

      “Strike two.  One more shitty lie and I’m going to crawl into that bed with you.  You’ll have a heart attack, but at least I’ll get some peace and quiet.”

      “I feel nauseous.”

      “Real or hysterical?”

      “Real, I’m afraid.  But I assign the blame for its rise to you.”

      “Need a couple of crackers?”

      “Of course not… do you have any?”

      “Yeah, hold on.”

Sam took an inner deep breath and heaved himself out of his chair, keeping the pain off of his face so Mycroft didn’t have extra ammunition to add to his clip.  He then picked up the small cracker package he’d grabbed from the kitchen before setting up his camp in the sick room.

      “Munch slowly, ok.  And if you still feel queasy, tell me and I can give you something for it.”

Mycroft slowly ate his crackers and felt the nausea begin to diminish to a manageable level.  Sam leaned against the headboard of Mycroft’s bed and read his book so he didn’t have to get up again if Mycroft needed additional help.  Such as punching him in his stupid head for trying to get out of bed.

      “What are you doing?”

      “Acquiring a glass of water.”

      “If I get you a glass of water will you finally go to sleep?”

      “It _will_ facilitate matters.  My mouth is quite dry after my repast.”

      “Fine.  Gimme a minute.”

Sam checked the water pitcher in the room and didn’t like the fact that it looked old and warm.  A slow stagger to the nearest tap earned Mycroft a glass of fresh and cool water accompanied by a straw that bent so he didn’t have to lift his head significantly to drink.

      “Better?”

      “I do feel my health has improved.”

      “Good, now it’s nighty-night time, right?  A full night’s sleep is going to make you feel even better.”

      “A reduction of stomach upset does not stimulate drowsiness.  I am as unfatigued as I was previously.”

      “Perfect.  You suck ass.”

      “A lovely mental image, I’m sure.  Now, may I inquire as to what you are reading?”

      “Go to bed.”

      “My curiosity had been piqued.  I was not altogether certain you actually _could_ read, therefore my interest has been stimulated.”

      “It’s nothing you would like.”

      “I believe I am the only person who can judge that properly.”

      “Poor, poor deluded bastard.  If you must know, it’s about medical practices of the middle ages.”

      “Oh, seeking to upgrade your skills?  I highly approve.”

      “You’re lucky I’m the only member of the studio audience in here to hear that so your humiliation for that terrible joke was limited.  Just like your intelligence.”

      “I assume there are also a great number of illustrations in your book to make the concepts easier for you to grasp.”

      “I’m getting you some knockout drops.”

      “I shall not part my lips to let them pass.”

      “I’ll use them as eye drops.”

      “My eyes can also be shut.”

      “Apparently not or you would fucking be asleep.”

      “Perhaps if I was also provided with reading material, I might grow drowsy.”

      “Oh my god… are you trying to kill me?  You know, whatever.  Here, take the tablet and read whatever you want to read.”

      “And how shall you occupy yourself?”

      “I’ll be over there learning to tie a hangman’s noose.”

      “As long as you are using the time productively.”

Sam passed over the tablet and sat down again in his chair.

      “This tablet is rather heavy.”

      “I’ll be shooting you in a minute.”

      “For what possible reason?  I did not design the device.”

      “You are officially on my shit list, Skinny.”

      “And you are on _several_ of mine, though they lack names quite so redolent with vulgarity.”

Lestrade lay in his bed indulging in new favorite hobby of playing possum.  Even after he no longer needed a resident doctor, he hoped that Sam would stop by and visit.  At lot.  It did Mycroft good to get to play a game of poke-the-badger…

__________

Arthur gave Arthur Bear, Skip Bear and Skip a little kiss before quietly getting out of bed to get started on his very busy day.  He had to prepare breakfast, yes!, and work on crafts, yes!, and call his father, boo!, so he had to get an early start.  One quick shower, some comfy clothes and Arthur was ready to meet the day with a big smile.  And that smile got much larger when he found Sherlock in the kitchen sitting at the table.

      “Ah, there you are.  I need tea.”

      “Brilliant!  Here I am to make breakfast you already sitting and wanting tea.  Sometimes we think so much alike it’s rather scary.  Where’s Doctor Watson?”

      “John is still in bed.  We did not actually fall asleep until quite late.  Or early, depending upon your perspective.”

      “Yeah, that happens sometimes.  You go to bed and then start talking about something or remember there’s something fun on the telly or get have Snoopadoop jump up and want to play, not that you have a Snoopadoop but one day you might and that can definitely keep you from going to sleep right away.”

Some might claim that Sherlock was socially unaware, but not even he was about to broach with Arthur the topic of why he and John remained awake long after going to bed.  The detective wasn’t actually sure he remembered all of the details clearly, anyway.

      “Tea?”

      “Oh, right!  It’s going to be a busy day, so I’ll make it extra strong.  Well, it’s going to be a busy day for me, I can’t say if it’s going to be one for you since I’m not sure what you have planned.  What _do_ you have planned for today, Mr. Sherlock?  Lots of exciting things?”

      “I have not decided.  John will be chained to this miserable charnel house and the idiots who consider themselves members of law enforcement are not seeing fit to provide me with cases at the frequency I prefer.  I am hopeful that since Mycroft’s foolish endeavor is now concluded, they can announce Lestrade’s situation and I can reestablish my access to work.”

      “Oh!  If you get something that’s not very messy or murdery, can I help?”

      “Owing to John’s traitorous abandonment of me in favor of playing nurse, I _could_ be required to seek your assistance.”

      “Hurray!  Just so long as it’s not…”

      “Messy or murdery.  I believe I can agree to those terms.”

      “Brilliant!”

Arthur began to putter in the kitchen and Sherlock watched him closely.  At this point he had a solid baseline for Arthur’s behavior and there was something off in the steward’s motions.  Since his arrival in the kitchen, Arthur had yet to dance with a spoon, sing his ‘I’m making tea’ song or try to juggle citrus fruits.

      “Arthur, what is wrong?”

      “What?  Nothing.  Well, I’m sure there are actually things wrong for some people somewhere, but not me.”

      “That was horrible.  I would very much appreciate it if you did not offend my ears with your pitiful attempts at deceit.”

      “Yeah, I can’t lie at all, can I?  I think my brain just has a big buzzer inside and when I try to lie, the buzzer goes off and it distracts me and I can’t tell my lie well enough to convince anyone.”

      “Once you pour the tea, sit down and we will discuss this.”

Arthur gave Sherlock a slightly hesitant grin, but finished making the tea, got something boiling on the stove, the identity of which Sherlock was happy to remain blissfully ignorant and finally took a seat across from the detective.

      “Well, it’s like this.  Today… today I have to tell Dad I’m getting married.”

Not what Sherlock was expecting, but having expectations about Arthur was not necessarily a sound strategy.

      “And this is problematic?”

      “I think there is a very big chance there will be problematic things, yes.”

      “And for what reason?”

      “It’s Dad.”

      “You did mention that earlier, so can you place another item on your list?”

      “I don’t really think I need another one.  ‘It’s Dad’ really does cover everything.”

      “The amount of clarification you provided could be ladled into a thimble and not reach the halfway mark.”

      “Oh, I suppose I see your point.  You’ve actually never met my dad, have you?  But you know… there are people who collect thimbles and some people who paint them and…”

      “I shall take you shopping for thimbles at a later time.  At the moment, I would like to hear why a phone call to your father would distress you.”

The look on Arthur’s face troubled Sherlock greatly and he was now quite sure that if he did meet Arthur’s father, things would get very problematic very quickly. 

      “Dad can be a little… mean.”

Sherlock found it very difficult to believe anyone could actually be mean to Arthur.  Impatient, perhaps or condescending, but Arthur was the very rare person that even Sherlock took care in handling.

      “Define ‘mean.’ “

      “Well, he can be shouty and say rude things.  When I was little… no, I’d rather not think about that because I have a lot of happy crafts I want to do today and that won’t make me happy, so I won’t be able to do my crafts.  Therefore, putting it out of my mind… now.”

The detective drank his nuclear tea, more to give his mouth something to do besides launch into an interrogation concerning the childhood of Arthur Shappey.  He _would_ find out at some point, but today was not the proper day.  Anyway, he would need time to research Arthur’s father to establish the most effective means of retribution for any slights or injuries Arthur may have suffered.

      “And because of this you do not feel he will support your marriage.”

      “I hope he will.  I hope Dad says Yeah! and asks when the wedding will be and comes and dances and we have a brilliant time… but I’m not entirely certain that’s going to happen.”

      “Yet you feel compelled to notify him of the event.”

      “He’s my dad.  It’s probably the law that I have to.”

      “Since you are not a child, no.  However, he will likely discover your new status at some point, even if you are not close.  You could simply allow things to unfold at their own pace.”

      “No… I’d rather get it over with now.  That way if Dad does want to be part of my wedding… WEDDING!... he can.  I’m just going to wait until I feel brave and then I’ll call.  But it’s going to be today, that much I know.  I just have to find the bravest part of the day to do it.”

Sherlock would never share with Arthur his own experiences with his parents or the very short-lived period where _he_ also held out some hope that the situation would change.  Of course he had been a small child when that period came and went, but he was not nor had he ever been as optimistic and good-hearted as Arthur.  However, this did give him some sympathy for the steward’s plight.

      “If you wish, I will make myself available to you after your conversation if you require assistance in processing your experience.”

      “Really?  Oh, Mr. Sherlock, that’s brilliant!  Thank you so much!  Oh, I think the celery is ready!”

Arthur jumped up to check his pot and Sherlock leaned back and congratulated himself on his skills in managing a distressed comrade.  Of course, he would ensure that John was also present if Arthur required the proverbial friendly ear, but his offer was sincere nonetheless.

      “Perfect!  Now, I do think I saw some lovely grapes around here somewhere, and a bottle of fish sauce…”

Though if Arthur chose to wait to make his phone call until his breakfast had digested, Sherlock would be greatly appreciative.

__________

Leftovers packed away? Check!  Dishes washed?  Check!  Skip kissed and hugged?  Check and check!  Lots of checks actually because he’d given Skip _lots_ of hugs and kisses once he’d finally come out of the bedroom.  And he’d sewn on the extra gold braid he’d bought for Skip Bear, put some work into organizing his photos and videos because he’d gotten behind since he’d been taking so many!  And now there was the new picture he wanted to make for Greg’s room and…”

      “Doctor Sam!  Where are you going!  You shouldn’t be walking around, not even a little bit!”

Arthur had spied the doctor walking toward the front door and was gripped with an anxiety because the doctor was moving with a great deal less than his normal swagger.  Even less than the previous night and that had been worrying enough.

      “It’d be hard to get home without actually walking out to the car, kid.  I’ll see you in a couple of days, ok?”

What?  No… Doctor Sam couldn’t leave yet!

      “No!  You can’t leave yet!”

Arthur ran over to the doctor, who had made it as far as the entranceway before being stopped by the Wall of Shappey.

      “I was actually supposed to leave awhile ago, but John and Greg decided to gang up on Mycroft and me in a battle of which war was worldlier, 1 or 2, and that went on a lot longer than any of us had planned.  Let me tell you something, those guys… they’ve got a bad case of waggy tongue.  Absolutely no clue of when to just shut up.”

      “Oh, that sounds like quite a bit of fun, actually but… do you really have to go?  I mean I know you have to go, but now?  Right now?”

If he wanted to actually remain standing, Sam knew the answer should be yes, but something in Arthur’s voice gave him the strength to dig a little deeper before he made a final decision.

      “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

Arthur took in the doctor’s appearance and almost bit back his words.  But if he did this, he really did want _everyone_ around and Doctor Sam was part of his everyone now… the doctor looked so tired, though.  And so hurt.  And when he’d asked to see Doctor’s Sam’s injury last night, it still looked very scary and the bandages were a bit nasty… and…yes!  This was what he’d been waiting for, something to happen to make it clear that now was the time to make his phone call.   Everyone was here and when it was over, they could either all dance together or… well, he’d have some shoulders to cry on and then everyone could get on with the rest of their day.  If he waited, Doctor Sam would leave or fall asleep or be too hurt to join in, so the phone call had to happen now.

      “I have to make a phone call.”

      “I’m happy for you.  Have a good time with that and I’ll see you soon.”

      “No!  You have to be here for it.”

      “Calling the Pope or something?  Sorry, kid, but I don’t think even he could pardon all of _my_ sins.”

      “Oh, well, maybe if Mycroft asked him, he could.  Mycroft’s very good at getting people to do things.”

      “I will pay you a full $7.50 if you can get Mycroft in a room with the Pope.  I think a black hole would spring up and swallow them both whole, which I’d want a good seat to watch so have that ready, too.”

      “Ok, I’ll try, but I have to make my phone call first.”

      “Sounds great and you can tell me all about it when I come back.”

      “No!  I have to call my dad and… everyone has to be here for that.”

Sam rubbed his eyes and took a less-bleary look at Arthur, wishing after a moment, that he’d snuck out earlier.

      “Don’t have the best relationship with your dad, do you?”

      “Well, no.  I can’t say that I do.”

      “It’s ok, kid.  For me it was my mom.  Let me guess, this call’s gonna make you upset and you want some warm bodies around for a big puppy pile afterwards.”

Once you understood Arthur, speaking his language wasn’t really very difficult.

      “Brilliant!  Oh, that would be the best thing ever!  And we could do it in Greg’s room and he could be a puppy, too, though we’d have to be careful not to shake him around too much.”

On one hand… his warm bed.  On the other hand… who the fuck cared?  Arthur needed him to stay and he wasn’t going to be a disappointment.  He’d done enough of that in his life already.

      “Ok, I’ll stay.  But you’re gonna call soon, right?  I’ll be honest, I’m holding myself together with coffee and filthy thoughts right now and I may actually be running out of filthy thoughts, as hard as that is to believe.”

      “I am at that.  I’m going to get my phone and… I need to talk to Mycroft.  Come on!”

Sam come on’d as fast as he could and made it back to Greg’s room only a year or so after Arthur had arrivved.

      “Can you?”

      “Arthur, are you quite certain you desire that we all hear your private conversation?  I fully understand if you wish cousin Martin to share the experience, however…”

      “Nope.  It has to be everyone.  That way, if it’s good news and I’m too happy to tell you everything you’ll know anyway.  And if it’s bad news… well, then I’ll probably be too sad to be of much use, so this way no matter what you’ll know what went on.”

Sam watched Mycroft’s face and read the look easily.  He didn’t think whatever Arthur wanted was a good idea, but there was a kernel of merit to the idea that had to be taken into consideration.  It also said Skinny was going to give in because he had no argument to give that would trump Arthur’s view on the subject.

      “Very well.  If someone would hand me my mobile.”

John picked up Mycroft’s phone and passed it to the man still lying in the bed.  Despite feeling somewhat better, Mycroft had found that his own attempts at bravado were insufficient to actually convince even himself to return to normal activity.  One quick text and the phone was returned to John to put away.

      “It is being done as we speak.  Though I hope it is not necessary, I wish you good luck, my boy.”

      “Thanks!  I’ll be back… whenever I’m back.”

Arthur left the room, shoulders straight and head held high and not a person there wasn’t praying he didn’t return in exactly the same manner.

      “Gregory, my dear, would you be so kind as to turn on the stereo?  Select the radio feature and press the Up button until… there.  Now we wait.”

      “Can someone tell me for what?  I was a little slow dragging my ass back in here.”

Sam looked pointedly at Mycroft, but it was Martin that provided the answer.

      “Arthur’s very nervous about calling Gordon and if you knew the man, you’d understand why.  He convinced Mycroft to have their conversation broadcast in here so we could hear it.  I think the idea that he’s not alone listening to what is going to be a large round of unpleasantness is going to make it easier for him to take.”

Well, that was one way to have your support system right there with you.  Sam had to admire Arthur’s ingenuity for this one and only grinned as he waved Sherlock out the chair between Mycroft and Lestrade’s bed and carefully sank back down to wait.

      “You didn’t have to stay, Sam.  In fact, I’ll say you shouldn’t have stayed.  How many more minutes until you just pass out and I have to drag you to a cab?”

      “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, John.  Like I was going to tell Arthur no.  Wind up with a big hunk of coal in my Christmas stocking?  I don’t think so.  Go be helpful and grab me a Coke or something you miserable elf.”

      “Oh, not your usual?  I’m sure Mycroft has a wine cellar around here somewhere if you’ve gone through all the hard stuff.”

      “That’ll just put me to sleep at this point and I am not leaving myself open to whatever stupid-ass crap you morons can come up with.  Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed is how I’m rollin’, so don’t be hatin’.”

John had a retort poised and ready to go but the barked ‘Hello’ that erupted from the sound system stopped him in his tracks.  Greg quickly dialed down the volume and everyone settled in for the show.

      “Hi Dad.  It’s Arthur.  Your son.”

      “Well, isn’t this the best way in the world to start the day?  What does Carolyn want?”

All heads in the room turned to Martin who just shrugged.  Actually, he hadn’t been sure if Gordon would just hang up given the outcome of their last encounter.

      “Nothing.  Well, I can’t actually be certain of that since I haven’t talked to Mum in a day or so since she’s all the way in Greece and I’m here in London, but I guess I would have to say that she does want something, because everyone usually wants something, even if it’s just a cup of tea or a listen to a song or think about a lovely picture or…”

      “Carolyn’s in Greece?  If you’re in London and she’s in Greece, who’s watching my plane?”

Arthur had situated himself in Mycroft’s study because it was cozy and warm and smelled nice and had a very comfy sofa, which he was now sitting up straight on as felt a cold little finger of worry trace its way up his spine hearing the eager tone in his father’s voice.

      “GERTI is in London with me and Skip and there are people taking care of it so if you try and steal it again, it won’t work and you’ll get in a lot of trouble and that would be terrible, because I really don’t want you to get into trouble, Dad.  Especially not since I have good news to tell you.”

Again, in the makeshift hospital room, all eyes turned towards Martin who quickly filled them in on the details of Gordon’s last attempt to retrieve what he felt was still his jet.

      “Cad.”

      “Arsehole.”

      “God, what a bastard.”

      “Dirtbag piece of shit.”

      “Arthur was being very generous using the descriptor ‘mean.’ “

A quick wave of his hands and Martin quieted the room down so they could continue to eavesdrop.

      “Got people taking care of it?  Your mother come into a fortune I don’t know about?”

      “No, not as such, but… oh, it’s not important.”

      “I think my plane is very important!”

      “GERTI’s not yours, Dad.  And… that’s not why I called.  I’ve got something important to tell you and I hope it’ll make you happy.”

      “If it doesn’t involve me getting my plane or Carolyn putting back the money for the new engine into my accounts, then I can’t think of anything you’d have to tell me that I’d call happy.  But give it a try… you always did like trying.  Even if it never amounted to anything.”

Sherlock and John each laid a hand on one of Lestrade’s shoulders to stop the upwards movement as the Detective Inspector made a very determined move to get out of the bed and find Arthur to pry the phone out of his hands. 

      “Oh… well, yes.  I do like to try.  You never know what new things you might find you like if you don’t try.  But… ok, I want to tell you… it’s like this, you see… I’ve sort of had something happen and… a good happen not a bad happen so don’t worry…”

      “The only thing I’m worried about is my ruddy ear that you’re talking into an early death.  Just get on with it!”

      “Yes!  Ok… getting on with it.  Here goes… Dad… I’m getting married.”

The silence on the other end started to make Arthur fidget and the other men start a betting pool as to whether Arthur’s father would laugh or yell when he overcame the surprise.

      “Are you kidding me?”

      “Um, no.  I’m engaged and I’m going to be married.  We don’t have an exact date yet, but when we do, I’ll let you know so you can…”

      “Who in their right mind would marry you?”

Now the ambulatory ones had to keep Mycroft in his bed and Sam in his chair as the ‘fuck this’ and ‘this shall not continue’ preceded an attempted break for freedom.

      “Well, you actually know them and I think you’ll be happy because…”

      “I don’t know anyone you know except that mange-ridden crew of Carolyn’s and your relatives, so unless you’ve gone all royal and decided to marry a cousin…”

      “No… I don’t think any of my cousins are actually… ok, that doesn’t matter.  But you did get it right, in a way.  It’s like this… Skip asked me to marry him and I said yes.  We love each other very much and he’s absolutely brilliant and we’re going to get married and have a little house of our own and be together forever and…”

      “Wait.  Close your mouth and just wait one minute.  Skip… that’s the nervous little ginger that thinks he’s an airline captain.  Try again, Arthur.  You never could lie.”

Martin was expecting that, so his blood didn’t boil too hotly at the insult.  And it wasn’t like he hadn’t heard something similar often enough from Douglas.

      “I’m not lying!  Skip and I have been boyfriends for awhile and now we’re engaged.  We even had a party to announce it, which came about rather quickly so I couldn’t invite you, but that’s why I’m calling so for the other parties…”

      “Do not tell me… not for one instant… that you are considering marrying a man.”

      “Ok, I won’t.  But I’m not considering it, I _am_ marrying a man because I’m marrying Skip and he’s a man.  I know that for certain because I’ve seen all his bits.”

      “You are going to wash your mouth out for that, Arthur Shappey.  Under no circumstances is my son gay.”

      “Umm… ok?  But I’m in love with Skip and we are getting married and kissing him is the most wonderful thing in the world and…”

      “Not another word.  Not. One. More.   You are _not_ gay.  I know you’ve dated your share of women, though how you found that many desperate females in Fitton I’ll never know, so you cannot be gay.  No, let me say it more plainly.  You are _not_ gay and that’s the end of it.”

      “Oh.  Alright.  I’m not gay.  But, since I’m still marrying Skip soon, I just want to know if you’ll come to the wedding, because I would really like it for you to be there since you’re my Dad and I’d like to have everyone there, so…”

Arthur’s cheering squad nodded their very hearty approval in Arthur’s continued and very innocent obstruction of his father’s tirade.

      “You are not getting married!  At least not to something with a cock between its legs!”

      “I would very much appreciate it if you didn’t call my fiancé _it_ , Dad.  It’s very rude.”

      “Rude is not the half of what I want to say.  You are not marrying a man and that’s the final word on the subject!  Especially not someone who’s barely got what it takes to even be called one!”

Greg’s ‘John, you hold him down and I’ll kick him to death’ amongst the other outraged rumblings went straight to Martin’s heart.  He never, _never_ , thought he’d have this.  First his MJN family and now his London one… no, he’d given up that dream a long time ago…

      “Skip is an amazing man!  He’s smart and funny and brave and hard-working and a good person and a brilliant pilot and a thousand other things.  He is a fantastic, wonderful man and he’s going be a fantastic and wonderful husband.”

      “Do not call him your husband!”

      “But that’s what he’s going to be!  He’s going to be my husband and I’m going to be his!  Mum even thinks we’re going to be brilliant husbands and…”

      “Carolyn always _was_ an idiot.  And she’s probably just so happy at finally getting you out of the house that she doesn’t care who or what you marry.”

      “That’s not true!  Mum already knows that we’ll visit and come for dinner and bring her grandchildren for visits, too, and…”

      “WHAT!  Oh god, your sickness is out of control!”

      “I’m not sick!  Loving someone is not sick!  Wanting to maybe have kids is not sick!  Skip and I are going to be happy together and there’s nothing sick about that.  Nothing at all.   Not one single thing.”

      “I always knew you had nothing in your head, Arthur, but now… did you even think about me in all of this?”

      “Well, yes.  That’s why I’m calling now, because I’ve been thinking about you and want you to come to the wedding.”

Though quite a bit less now than before, if Arthur was to be honest with himself.

      “Nothing in your head at all.  Do you have any idea what it’ll do to me when people find out my son is marrying a man?  And a pathetic excuse for a man, to boot?  Business runs on contacts, Arthur, and half of mine are going to stop answering my calls when they hear about this!”

      “I… well, I can’t really say much about that because I don’t know any of your business friends, but I’d say they weren’t very good ones if they got angry with you for something like that.  I mean if it was really a problem, I’m sure Mycroft would have said something since he does very important business and…

      “Hold on… hold on one tiny moment.  What did you just say?”  

      “He does very important business and… and then I had to stop because you interrupted me.”

      “He.  Mycroft?  What’s his other name?”

      “Do you mean Holmes?  Because that’s the only other one I know though I suppose he could have others.  I can ask, if that helps.”

      “Arthur, this is important so you listen to me and actually think for a change before you answer.  How do you and why do you know Mycroft Holmes?”

All non-Arthur eyes were on Mycroft now, who looked as confused as any of them.  He went through his mental files and nothing of note came to mind.  He, of course, had a dossier on Arthur with all relevant information, but nothing about Arthur’s father had been of importance.  Wealthy, not entirely due to legal or ethical practices, but little of interest beyond that.

      “He’s Skip’s cousin.”

      “That fidgety ginger is a Holmes?”

      “No, he’s a Crieff.  We’re going to be Crieff-Shappey after the wedding… WEDDING!... but Mycroft said I’m an honorary Holmes now, so you could say I’m a Holmes and Skip is one by… cousinhood.”

      “You are marrying into Mycroft Holmes’s family, is that what you’re telling me, Arthur?”

Arthur was now feeling very confused because once his father got angry, there really wasn’t anything to make a change in that except time and staying very much out of his way.  And he hadn’t done either of those things.

      “Yes.  Even though Skip's not really been part of the family, in a way, for a long time because of a little, well, a lot of, trouble with..."

      “Stop. I lost interest after the word yes.  Arthur, I never thought I’d say this, but you’ve done something good, son.”

      “Really?”

      “Sinking your hooks into that money and power?  I’d say that’s good.  I’d say that’s _very_ good.  So good that it might even erase the shame of your marriage.  Nicely done… I wouldn’t have thought you could pull something like that off, but you _do_ have my genes, after all, so they had to come out at some point, I guess.  And they could _not_ have picked a better time…”

Arthur was now very uncomfortable with the conversation.  Partially because he didn’t understand some of it and partially because he did understand parts and those parts were making him feel more than a bit sick to his stomach.

      “Dad… I’m not quite sure why you’re so happy, but… I’m glad you are.  I’m thrilled to get to be part of Skip’s family because they’re the best and the most fun people in the world and we’ll get to visit them a lot, I hope, even though we live in Fitton and they live here. But… does this mean you’ll come to the wedding?”

John was already handing Mycroft his mobile before the elder Holmes motioned for it with his fingers.  Not a person in that room believed for a moment that Mycroft would allow that part of Arthur’s conversation to go uninvestigated.

      “Oh, I would not miss it now.  Not for a moment.”

Somehow, that didn’t make Arthur as happy as he thought it would.

      “Ok… good!  Yes, good.  So, I’ll let you know when we set a date.”

      “Sooner the better.  You don’t want to let this opportunity slip through your fingers, Arthur.  I swear I will kick your arse to the moon if this falls through!”

      “Well… I’ll let you know.  I think I should probably say goodbye now as I need to go and see Skip and I’m sure you have go do… whatever you do.”

      “Yeah, good.  You take care of things on your end and I’ll handle mine.  Goodbye son, and remember not to mess this up.”

Arthur’s ‘goodbye, dad’ didn’t quite make it past the end of the call but that was such a little upset mixed in with the bigger ones that it barely made a dent.  The steward was now especially glad he’d had the others listen in, because there was absolutely no possibility that he’d remember all of that and get it right to help them help _him_ understand what was going on.  Arthur stopped in the kitchen to get a glass of very much-needed juice and joined the others in Lestrade’s room, feeling a thousand times lighter when he was greeted by room full of caring and concerned faces.  Martin was across the room in a heartbeat and took his fiancé in his arms, holding him tightly until _he_ was feeling more calm.

      “Skip, are you alright?”

      “I am now.  You’re incredible, Arthur.  Absolutely incredible.  And thank you, love.  For everything you said about me… thank you so very much.”

      “I only told the truth, Skip, and all of that _is_ the truth.  But… can someone tell me what’s going on?  Dad was so angry and shouty and mean and awful and then… poof.  It all vanished like the food in Snoopadoop’s bowl.”

Each man in the room looked at the others and were proud of themselves for not actually pointing at the ones they would rather handle the question.  Finally, it was Lestrade who waved Arthur over for an explanation.

      “It’s like this, lad.  Your dad, who is a right bastard, by the way, is willing to set aside his disgust at your choice of fiancé because that fiancé is a key to a very golden goose.”

      “I don’t understand.”

      “Your dad recognized Mycroft’s name and probably sees this as a way to get his hands on some of Mycroft’s money and influence.  He’s not happy you’re marrying Martin, he’s happy you’re marrying money.”

      “But, Skip doesn’t have any money.”

      “And if he wasn’t related to someone who does, your dad would still be yelling at you.  I’m sorry, Arthur, but your father loves the idea of picking Mycroft’s pockets a lot more than he loves the idea of you being happy.”

Lestrade reached over and gave Arthur’s hand a little squeeze and got a very hard one in return as the pieces finally began to fall into place in Arthur’s mind.

      “Oh love, don’t cry.”

Martin put his arms around Arthur again and led him over to where John had vacated a chair specifically to get Arthur off his increasingly wobbly legs.

      “I shall refill your juice.”

Sherlock plucked the glass from Arthur’s hand and made a hasty retreat out of the room, for the primary purpose of giving _himself_ time to process the events.  He dealt regularly with reprehensible people, so the conversation should not have affected him to this degree, but he could not deny his own internal upset.  John, Lestrade and now, again, Arthur… decent people forced to suffer terrible pains through no fault of their own.  It lacked logic and sense and design… but it was true nonetheless.  He would devote another period of thought specifically to this matter in hopes of finding some reason behind this simple, but ugly pattern.

Mycroft looked at the flow of information coming in on his phone and found what he expected.  Gordon Shappey had some small acquaintance with a few individuals with whom _he_ had some small acquaintance.  Nothing more sinister than that, but it was sufficiently odious that Mycroft felt a great craving for an additional few crackers to quiet the acid starting to boil in his stomach.  How could someone as toxic as Gordon Shappey sire such a sweet and honorable child?  He certainly did not _deserve_ a child such as Arthur!  Though it would not do to take any overt steps at this point, he would enact some measure of revenge for Arthur’s poor treatment, as well as ensure that Arthur never wanted for a patriarchal figure in his life.  Himself, his beloved Gregory… they would remain ever-available to Arthur as surely as they would be to a younger brother or a child of their own.

      “It’ll be alright, kid.  It hurts like a sonofabitch right now, but it’ll be alright.  You’ll dry your eyes and realize that nothing’s changed.  You’re still getting married to a topnotch guy, you’ve still got these maroons who think you’re the greatest and will walk through fire for you, you’ve got your job and that little dog of yours…  that dick of a dad didn’t change anything about your life except make himself look like a complete fuckhead.  You want me to rough him up for you, though, just say the word.  And when I rough someone up, they _stay_ roughed up, if you know what I mean.”

      “And I’ll give this old sack of bones a hand.  Between Sam and me we can have your dad sitting in his own hospital room and make sure his chart says that he needs daily enemas and a pure cabbage diet.”

Arthur knew he was a long way from actually feeling good, but he _was_ feeling better.  No matter how bad things got, he had his Skip and his family and they made things better no matter how awful they were.

      “It’s ok, Doctor Watson… Mum always talks about Dad’s head being thick and I wouldn’t want you to hurt your hand if you gave him a punch in the nose or anything.  I’ll just… oh, thank you, Mr. Sherlock.  Pineapple!  My favorite!  Where was I?  Oh yeah, I’ve had my little cry and maybe I’ll have another one later, but Doctor Sam’s right.  I have everything I had before I talked to my dad and I really like what I have, so I think I’ll be ok once I drink my juice and maybe watch a film or something.  Do you… do you think we could do that?  Watch a film and… well, it’s nearly time for lunch so we could order some pizza or yummy Chinese and just eat and watch a film and…”

      “I’m already on it.  I’ll order some food and Greg and Mycroft can take film duty.  Sherlock and Martin can get the plates and drinks and maybe see if there’s anything sweet in the kitchen and get that ready for later.  Sam can just sit there and not be an arse…”

      “Fat chance, John, you lametastic excuse for a friend.  I, for one, am going to do what I can for a shower, raid Skinny’s closet for clothes and make myself comfortable for my moviewatching experience.”

John realized the corner he’d backed Sam into and cut his friend the best apology eyes he could, but knew from his friend’s face that the doctor hadn’t planned on leaving anyway.  Another person in Arthur’s corner, even if that person was barely holding themselves together at the moment.  John made himself a silent promise that Sam was getting a room in Mycroft’s house tonight and if he had to sit on the American to make him settle down and get some sleep, he’d do it and bring a book to pass the time.

      “Brilliant!  Oh, this is going to be fun, not that we don’t always have fun when we watch films but this one is going to be especially brilliant!”

It wasn’t Arthur’s most joyful exclamation, but it was enough to make everyone else in the room breathe an inner sigh of relief.  At least some of the storm had passed and Arthur was on his way to putting this miserable experience behind him.  Mycroft shared a look with his Gregory and smiled that his partner was sharing his thoughts… how wonderful it was to have family… especially a family as wonderful as theirs.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued and sincere thanks for all the kudos and wonderful comments!

      “Oh, he looks so happy with Sammy Bear all tucked in next to him!”

Arthur pulled out his phone and snapped several pictures of an unconscious Sam and his new best friend and John vowed that he would not let Arthur leave London until he had copies of those photos.  It had been the work of a good ten minutes of intense haranguing and threats of physical action for John to finally get Sam to agree to bed down in one of Mycroft’s guest bedrooms and, though it was relatively early, even with the double-feature they’d staged for Arthur’s recuperation, the doctor was passed out so thoroughly, John wasn’t sure an earthquake could wake him up.

      “ ‘uking lve, bastr.”

Apparently the American was earthquake-proof.

      “Oh dear, Doctor Sam’s gone all wonky.”

      “No, that’s his polite, yet incredibly stubborn, way of asking us to leave.  Come on Arthur, you can check on our Sleeping Beauty later on.”

      “ ‘k yu.”

      “Got someone to do that already, but thanks for offering.”

__________

      “You doing ok, Mycroft?”

The senior Holmes had shooed everyone away once Arthur and John carried the ridiculous American’s near-unconscious body to a guest room, so that he and his Detective Inspector could have some peace and quiet.  If, perhaps, there was a gun to his head, Mycroft would admit that the doctor had fought valiantly to remain awake and engaged during Arthur’s film festival and did have a small amount of skill for buoying Arthur’s spirits and providing a beam for their scaffold of support.  But now, everyone was gone and he and his Gregory had the room alone to themselves.

      “I am quite well, actually.  The distractions of the day have allowed me to ignore any physical unpleasantness I may have been experiencing.  And at the moment, I have little about which to make complaint.”

      “John slipped you something, didn’t he?”

      “Perhaps a tablet or two of some form.  Enough to dull the sharpness of the ache, but not further impair my thinking.”

Though John had been rather forcefully advocating that level of assistance.  Samuel, however, countered with a more minimalistic approach and this was, and would likely stand as, the only time Mycroft found the American’s advice to be perfectly acceptable.

      “Should just take a few sips of my drip.  No pain and head clear as a bell.”

      “I would never deprive you, my dear, of any respite from your own discomfort.”

      “Oh, you’re so nice.  Then I guess you’ll just have to masturbate.”

Mycroft wondered if his Gregory was as clear-headed as he pronounced.

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “Wank.  Supposed to be good for head pain.  That’s what they tell the poor people with the migraines.  Releases endorphins or something like that.”

      “Your medical knowledge is astounding.  However, I believe I shall rely upon the potion John provided.”

      “Nah, natural way’s always better.  So go ahead.  I’ll watch to make sure you’re doing it right.”

      “Gregory Lestrade, I will not have you using my disability as an excuse to exercise your lustful intentions towards my person.”

      “Stop stalling and don’t worry about my lustful intentions.  I’ll satisfy those myself.”

      “And here I was laboring under the assumption that the anatomy desiring satisfaction was currently not in a state sufficiently responsive to achieve that condition.”

      “Stop punching holes in my dirty fantasy and get started.”

      “I think not.”

      “Didn’t take you for the shy type.”

      “I would not necessarily describe myself in those terms; however, given our home is currently occupied by a large encampment of individuals, none of whom can be counted on to demonstrate the courtesy of knocking before they enter a room, I shall assume a more conservative persona than I might normally, given the directive to provide my dearest with a pleasing erotic performance.”

      “Is that another way of saying one is the largest-sized audience you want for your burlesque?”

      “Quite.  But I will make you a sincere promise to entertain you on command the moment we are fully assured of privacy.”

      “Wish I had pen and paper to write that down.  Don’t want you wriggling out of it later.”

      “I would never wriggle.  I would find a valid technicality on which to base any potential reneging.”

      “None of that!  It’s bad enough my body won’t be able to wriggle for fucking ever, but you’d better not be promising me things that you don’t plan to make good on.  I really _need_ some entertainment, Mycroft.  Notice how I put that emphasis on need so you’d be sure of exactly what type of need I’m needing?”

      “Your talent for vocal emphasis is unparalleled.  And I shall not deny you your enjoyment, Gregory, I am simply postponing it to a more acceptable time.  I would not for a moment wish to contemplate the effects on our family dynamics were Sherlock, again, to pay a visit during our intimate moment.”

      “Oh god, you’re right.  I’d forgotten about the great and powerful mood killer.  I do _not_ want to go through that again; I beat myself into paste over the whole business the first time and I don’t think I’m in good enough shape to be able to do it again.”

Mycroft’s brain might have been slightly bruised, but he was very aware in the slight shift in his lover’s tone.

      “You are not confining your thoughts only to Sherlock’s arrival, are you, Gregory?”

The long pause was Mycroft’s answer, but he hoped that his lover did not leave the matter there.  There would be much discussion in their future about many topics and there was no reason to let this opportunity slip by.  Not that he wanted this conversation, of course, that wanting was in no manner the same as needing.

      “No, I’m not.  Felt like a right idiot after I left.  It was supposed to be a simple night with two mates enjoying a film and it… well, that’s not how it ended, was it?  Before Sherlock arrived, I mean.  I wouldn’t have stopped, just so you know.  I wouldn’t have said no or wait or this is a bad idea or anything like that because I wanted it too badly.  Even after everything, it all felt so right, like it was meant to be and that tore me apart.  After what I’d been through with you, I still wanted you and it was _every_ part of me that wanted.  If it was just sex, I probably could have walked away, but it wasn’t and… I felt like such a fool.  A failure.  Weak.  Stupid.  And then, when I’m already ashamed of myself, you send me that monkey picture and I laughed so hard I thought I’d stop breathing.  You want me to laugh and I do.  You want my libido pushed up to the maximum and there it goes.  Do you have any idea what that feels like?  At its best, it means you found the one person who really, truly is matched with you.  At its worst, it means you’ve got no control of your life and it’s your own fault for being pathetic.”

Mycroft didn’t expect an answer that would be easy to hear, so he was not surprised by the words.  The tone, however… anger, frustration, resentment… any of that would have been acceptable.  Resignation, however, was not.

      “Gregory… that night, we _both_ succumbed to our desires.  If you believe, for a moment, that I would have had the fortitude to put a stop to our actions, then you are sadly mistaken.  From the moment you laid a hand on my skin there was, for me, no deviating from the path to what we both desired so greatly.  I also entered our evening with noble intentions and watched them crumble when my fondest dream was placed within my reach.  You may worry that I choose my behaviors to receive certain responses from you, however, I assure you that is not the case.  I am as controlled by you, my dear, as you may sometimes believe of yourself.  The day in our beloved car… I did not intend to kiss you.  I simply had no choice.  I was completely and irrevocably captivated by you at that moment and I could not have mustered the strength to break the spell if I had even possessed the will to put effort towards the task.  The night in your bed… do you believe I had _any_ control over my actions?  I certainly did not; not with being able to hear nothing in my ears but the boiling of my own blood seeing you looking so… you were absolutely breathtaking.  Do not fear that there exists an imbalance in our relationship, Gregory.  Even Arthur has made mention that I am the proverbial putty in your hands.”

Mycroft shifted in his bed to better see Lestrade and was very happy to observe that the look on his face was not a match for the previous tone of his voice.  But that tone and their conversation were not things Mycroft would allow himself to forget.  His ability to _manage_ individuals was a powerful tool in his arsenal and he _could_ control and manipulate others with a few well-chosen words or the twitch of an eyebrow.  However, he could never allow his partner to feel that he was using such tactics on him.  Never spur doubts that he was not a full and equal partner in their relationship or that his own effect on Mycroft was more powerful than anyone else in existence.

      “Well… Arthur _did_ take a course in understanding people.”

      “That he did, so you would do well to bow to his expertise.”

Lestrade grinned and was proud that it was closer to being real than he expected he’d be able to make.  There was still a thread of worry woven into his bones and it would probably be there for long time, no matter how much he wished things were different.  Mycroft was being honest, Lestrade truly believed that, but how easy would it be for Mycroft to set aside his natural instincts, plus those he’d honed over the years for his work, and not steer him as easily as car?  Probably wouldn’t even realize he was doing it.  But… maybe Mycroft would start _trying_ to notice if he was.  And that was something he could do too… if he got nervous or worried he could just say something.  Air it out.  That was part of why his marriage failed and it was a mistake he would not make again.  Just take the time to _talk_.  Say if something was bothering him and ask if he felt Mycroft had something on his mind.  Do something besides just walking around hoping everything would work out on its own without anyone having to do anything about it.

      “I do appreciate the work of experts.  They’ve helped me out a time or two on cases, as you may know.”

      “Ah, and there we have it.  Confirmation of my theory.  And, while we are on the subject of expertise…  I will need _your_ expertise in determining the timeframe for which your situation is announced to your colleagues.  I refuse to place you under any undue pressure or stress, but I am certain you are anxious for your peers to be made aware of your condition if only to have the opportunity to reconnect with those with whom you are friendly.”

That was something that Lestrade hadn’t, actually, given much thought.  As hopeful as he was to get back to work, he’d sort of put out of his mind that no one actually knew anything had happened.  Little holiday then some mysterious reassignment and… not a word after that.  With everything he’d been going through and the continued efforts to keep him occupied, he’d not really thought much about his team.  And now… now he was.  Not today or tomorrow, but soon he might like a few visitors.  Have a little time to talk shop and catch up on the news and gossip.  He’d need that, anyway.  Keep a finger on the pulse of things while he got himself in order to get out in thick of it again.  Keep people thinking about him and encouraging him to get stronger so he could be part of things once more.  It would help, it really would, to know that they wanted him back, too.

      “I’ll give it some thought.  Soon, though… maybe start with some phone calls before anyone actually stops by for a hello.  I’m not… I’d really rather make a better presentation than I do now.  Hate to have them already counting me out for ever coming back and right now, that’s what I look like.”

      “I find no fault in that reasoning.  Perhaps a consult with John would help you formulate an appropriate timetable?”

      “Yeah, that sounds good.  Actually, I’ll talk to Sam about it, too.  He tends to be willing to push things faster than John and I think I’m ready to move things ahead a bit.”

      “Gregory, please defer to John preferentially for your decisions.  He has more thorough knowledge of you and your abilities and takes a more conservative approach, which is not unwarranted for your recovery.”

      “Too, Mycroft.  Sam, _too_.   As in, in addition.  Look, John is my primary doctor, but he’s… well, he’s gun shy now, isn’t he?”

Lestrade adored Mycroft’s confused look.  It was rare he saw it, but it was probably more than anyone else, save Arthur, ever had the privilege to see.

      “Explain.”

      “I’m not so out of it that my cop’s senses are dead, you know.  John had a rough go after we got back here because he felt guilty about pushing for us to come back.  He’s been treating me pretty gently and I think he’s just worried that he’s going to make things worse again if he takes any risks.  Not that he’s doing anything wrong, it’s just… I don’t think he’s pushing me as hard as he could.  On one hand I’m thrilled!  I’m happy to take this easy and not have to hurt as much as John’s told me I’ll be hurting.  On the other hand… I don’t want to wind up stagnating.  Not moving forward and never getting to the point I need to get to.  I’m not going to die and if I just lay here and let things heal, I’m still not going to die, but… I want to do more than not be dead.  Don’t get me wrong, if you can find a way to get me back into the shape I was before all of this happened without me having to do anything, I’m all for it.  But, since that’s not going to happen, I’ll have to work for it and… I’m just worried John won’t push me to work as hard and as fast as I actually could.”

Mycroft would not go so far as to say he had concerns in that area, but he could not have failed to notice the doctor’s train of thought after the accident and Gregory’s assessment of the matter was quite accurate.  However, the very last thing he wanted was for his partner to be stressed too highly if a more sedate approach would give the same end product.  The operative word, of course, being _if_.  He would have to engage in his own conversation with John to more properly gauge the situation and what would be the best course of action for advancing his Gregory’s progress.

      “Then a group consultation would seem prudent.  When the idiot has regained his strength, we shall conference with both of your health-care providers and come to an agreement as to your recovery protocol.”

      “That’s King Idiot, to you, you know.”

      “I stand corrected, he does deserve the honorific.”

      “As he would gladly tell you.”

      “Unquestionably.”

__________

      “Skip, you just had an entire tray of snacks.  Why are you in the biscuits?”

      “Because you didn’t put out biscuits.”

      “Oh… well, that makes sense, then.  Look all the way in the back and you’ll find the best ones.  I hide them there for Mycroft because he has less of a chance to eat them than we do and it’s a shame if we eat all the best biscuits and he doesn’t get any.”

      “Hmm… then why not just buy the best ones to begin with and then everyone’s happy?”

      “Brilliant!  I’m going to change that right away on the grocery order.  Nothing but the best biscuits from now on.  This is why you’re the most wonderful fiancé in the world.  You have good ideas about everything!”

Martin was sure he could write a book on why that statement was completely untrue, but Arthur wouldn’t believe one word so it wasn’t really worth the time and effort.  Instead, he dug for the ‘best’ biscuits and took a seat at the table to watch Arthur tidy up the kitchen and make preliminary preparations for tomorrow’s breakfast.  All offers to help had been refused and he’d learned by now that sometimes Arthur just needed to do things himself to be his happiest.  Especially if he was working through something unpleasant.

      “Arthur, are you doing ok?  After talking to Gordon, I mean.”

The tiniest break in Arthur’s momentum told Martin the tale and he promised himself again that if Gordon _did_ show up to the wedding, he’d not leave in quite the same condition as when he arrived.

      “I’m…”

      “And be honest.  Don’t upset yourself more by trying to think of a way of telling me something not quite true and _not_ making it a lie.”

Arthur set aside the jar of olives he’d taken from the cupboard and gave his whole body a shake.

      “I’m still a bit upset.”

      “Want a hug?”

      “Yes.”

Martin had his arms around his fiancé before Arthur could blink and the larger man relaxed into his captain’s arms.

      “This is helping a lot.”

      “Then I’ll do it a lot.  And often.  When we go to bed tonight, I’ll hug you until you go to sleep and then hug you again when you wake up.”

      “I’d like that.  But, I do feel a LOT better than right after I talked to Dad.  It was so… brilliant to have everyone here and want to help me feel better.  And they did!  But there’s still a few squirmies in my stomach and brain and… I suppose it’s going to take awhile for them to stop squirming.”

      “Probably.  That was a very brave thing you did, but I know it hurt, too, and that hurt is going to take time to go away.  Especially since it would not surprise me at all if Gordon doesn’t keep in touch a lot more than usual to see how close you are to being Mycroft’s money bag.”

      “I just don’t understand that, Skip.  Dad has TONS of money.  And I mean that literally.  If you took all of Dad’s money and put it on a scale it could easily weigh a ton.”

      “Unless it was a cheque.”

      “Oh… I hadn’t thought about that.”

      “But it would still be a lot of money, and you’re right.  Gordon’s got plenty, so it’s just greed that he wants more.  Don’t worry, though… Mycroft will make sure he doesn’t actually get any.”

      “I hope so.  I’d hate to make Mycroft angry because Dad is stealing his money.  Mycroft works hard for his money!  I can’t even imagine how hard it is to have to rule London and the rest of everywhere every single day.  I was tired after only being in charge of you and Mr. Sherlock for part of one day!”

      “Yes, the burdens of command are plentiful.”

      “That they are.  You’re lucky you’ve got Douglas to help you with yours otherwise… I’d worry about you, Skip.”

      “Yes, we’re all thankful for Douglas.”

      “That we are!  And he’ll get Douglas Bear to show just how thankful we are.  Oh, but I’m supposed to be watching out for Douglas trying to steal Mycroft’s money, too, aren’t I?  Oh dear, that’s rather a lot of watching and I’ve got so many other things to do…”

      “I think Mycroft can do a lot of the watching, Arthur, don’t worry.  He’ll probably assign someone just to pay attention to that one thing so you don’t have to do it all yourself.”

      “Hurrah!  That’s a relief because I really don’t like having to think about people doing sneaky things.  I’d much rather think about happy things like our wedding… WEDDING!... Oh, I’m more excited about it than ever!”

      “And you were already _very_ excited.”

      “I know!  Any more excited and I might have to have a glass or two of sherry.  That does make me quite relaxed.”

      “Well, if you like, we can have one after you finish up in here.”

      “Actually… I’ve done the tidying and if I get up a few minutes early,  I can get all my breakfast preparations done in time to have a nice hot meal ready for everyone when they wake up…”

      “So, you’d like your sherry now.”

      “Is that bad?”

      “Not at all.  I think Mycroft’s study likes getting guests in the evening.”

      “I think you’re right.  It’s a nice room and seems even nicer when there are people in there having fun and a little sherry and a warm fire…”

      “You’d like a warm fire, too, wouldn’t you?”

      “Is that bad?”

Martin just shook his head and gave his fiancé a kiss.

      “Arthur, I don’t anything you do could ever be called bad.”

      “Whew!  That’s good to know. So… let’s go?”

      “On our way…”

__________

      “Oops!  Sorry… we’ll leave you alone…”

John looked up from his book, ignored Sherlock’s mumbled ‘good, go away’ and waved Martin and Arthur into the room.

      “Come in, we’re just relaxing a little and there’s easily room for two more.”

      “This _is_ a very nice room for relaxing.  It’s so cozy and comfy and perfect.  I think when we get our little house, it needs to have a room like this.  With a nice fire like this one and oh!  there’s my sherry.  The sherry I can buy in Fitton is good, but this is especially good since it’s Mycroft’s sherry and it was the first real chat we had when I went to his club, which is very lovely by the way, and got to sit and drink sherry and talk about Skip…”

      “Well, pour enough for everyone then!  Sherlock and I would love a glass.”

John waved away his partner’s ‘kindly speak for yourself’ and motioned for Sherlock to behave.  It wasn’t John’s fault that Sherlock had overindulged with Sam last night; he should know that the American prided himself on being a corrupter, even when he was nearly cut in two.  The doctor watched Arthur pour out four glasses and very carefully carry each one to its recipient.

      “You’re not going to break anything, love.”

      “I know, Skip.  Well, I think I know, but I’d rather not take any chances.  At any moment a mouse could run right in front of me, not that I think Mycroft’s house has any mice, but if it did, they’d probably be the very smart mice you see on the telly that have their own little houses and beds and bathtubs behind the walls and I really wouldn’t want to step on any of them, so I’d jump out of the way and might drop the glass or spill the sherry and that wouldn’t be a good thing, now would it?”

Martin had no energy to fight that very well-thought-out argument.

      “No, it wouldn’t.  And I’m sure the Mycroft’s mouse civilization appreciates the concern.”

The pilot wagged his finger at John who was fighting to hold back a giggle, especially after he caught Sherlock giving the baseboards a surreptitious examination.  With the last glass delivered, Arthur dropped down into one of the armchairs and let out an enormous sigh.

      “We are definitely having a room like this, Skip.  Oh!  Our little house could be just one room and it could be like this!  Well, we’d need a little tiny room for bathing and… other things… but the rest of the house could be like this.  I could even cook over our fire and we could have a bed in the corner.”

      “So, like a cabin.”

      “Brilliant!  We could live in a cabin and you know what happens when you live in a cabin?”

      “No.”

      “All sorts of wonderful things.  Just pick up any book where someone lives in a cabin and it’s amazing what happens to them.”

      “You know, Arthur… I didn’t see a lot of Fitton while I was there, but I really don’t remember running across any cabins.  I think you might have to settle for a regular house with a kitchen and bedroom.  But, there’s nothing says you can’t have a big fire at night and put a couple of comfortable chairs right next to it, so you can be as warm and cozy as you’d like.”

      “You’re probably right, Doctor Watson.  Anyway, as long as Skip’s there, it’ll be a brilliant house.  Even without forests with magical animals or baskets filled with changeling babies.”

      “I am certain that if you request it, Mycroft will have a cabin built for you adjacent to a forest that he would gladly populate with a variety of genetically-modified creatures and orphans.”

      “Sherlock, please do not give Arthur any ideas.  I’m going to have a hard enough time keeping Mycroft’s involvement in this to a minimum as it is.  The last thing I need is for sets of blueprints to start arriving for Arthur’s approval.”

      “I would expect that sets of blueprints already exist, along with schematics for landscaping.  And, of course, options for various tracts of land… I am certain that once you announce your intention to begin a serious study of available properties, you will find you already own half of Fitton and the realtor is simply waiting for you to choose your preferred residence so she may fill the rest with tenants to provide you with a tidy rental income to supplement your lack of wages.”

Martin groaned and drained his drink in a single swallow, while John glared at his soon-to-be-smacked partner.

      “Well, I don’t know about any of that, but it might be nice to build a little house so we could have it just the way we wanted it.  And there’s lots of land in Fitton, so we could find a pretty spot where we could have a yard and a garden and, well, I haven’t decided about a swimming pool because I’m not sure what we’d do with it in the winter…”

      “Ice skate.”

      “Sherlock!”

      “Brilliant!  Oh that is absolutely ice cream and cherries brilliant!  Thank you, Mr. Sherlock!  We could swim and skate and when it was too warm to skate but too cold to swim we could bundle up in jackets and float around on little rafts.  Skip, we need a swimming pool.”

If Martin wasn’t positive that the glass in his hand was worth more than his van, he would have hurled it at his cousin’s head.  His cousin’s miserable, smugly-grinning head.

      “We’ll think about it, love.  Let’s look around first and see what’s available before we start planning a custom house with pool and stables and bloody golf course.”

Before Arthur’s enthusiasm at the idea of horses could burble up, John jumped up to refill their glasses and swapped Sherlock’s for something that smelled very potent, which might curb any further inclination for him to stir up trouble.

      “Well, that sounds like a great idea.  In the meantime, what are the rest of your plans for your London visit?  Sherlock can probably show you around to some places you’d never even have thought of and I’m sure he’d be happy to do it. ”

John shot a grin at Martin who smiled back at the bit of revenge.

      “Oh… well, I haven’t really thought that out what with… everything.  But that would be brilliant!  I’m sure Mr. Sherlock knows all sorts of fun places, even if they all are about crime or murder.”

      “Or science, Arthur.  Sherlock probably knows a lot of science-y places to go and you know you’d like that, too.”

Sherlock was not amused by the smiles Martin and John continued to share, nor that they were being levied against him.

      “I believe there is an exhibit on offer that showcases skinned and partially dissected humans encased in transparent plastic.  I _have_ been hopeful to visit before the exhibit closes.”

The detective was quite content to observe that Martin turned a lovely shade of green when his imagination ran away with him.

      “Oh!  Oh… I’m not sure if Skip would do very well with that, Mr. Sherlock.  He had a bit of difficulty when I had to help sew up Doctor Sam.”

John swatted Sherlock’s leg and motioned him to pay more attention to his drink than to riling up his cousin.

      “Speaking of, I’ve been meaning to tell you that you did a magnificent job on those sutures, Arthur.  And you had a lot to do, so keeping them even like that was important.”

John took note that the look of pride in both Sherlock and Martin’s eyes was nearly identical.  It was such a shame, a crime really, that their relationship had been so flawed when they were growing up.  Just _something_ different and it could have been such a good thing for both of them.

      “Thanks, Doctor Watson!  And that means a lot coming from you since you’re a doctor and have to be very good with doing stitches and knowing what good stitches look like.  Doctor Sam said I did a good job, too, but he may have been a little drunk.”      

      “Drunk or not, he was right.  I’d be willing to say that, right now, your plane’s the safest out there because there’s a qualified medic on board during the flight.  All we have to do is find you the opportunity to set a broken bone and you’ll have most of the bases covered.”

      “Oh!  Maybe we can get some bones from the butcher!  They give them to the doggies, so they might not mind giving me some to practice on.”

      “Actually, Arthur, I could speak to Molly and…”

      “No!  Thank you, Sherlock, but you are not bringing home severed limbs for Arthur to play with.”

Martin was now turning from a pale olive to a vibrant emerald green and starting to sink deeply into his chair as if hoping it would swallow him whole.

      “You, John Watson, are exactly the type of individual that has impeded the march of medical and scientific progress.”

      “But I’ve kept a tidy house and not scarred anyone for life, so I consider myself ahead of the game.  We’ll think about those butcher’s bones, Arthur.  Make sure you can do a good splint and cast before you go so you’ll be ready for anything.”

      “Yes!  This is turning into the best holiday, except for Greg nearly dying, Mycroft’s conked head and Doctor Sam nearly being a lot shorter.”

      “And since Greg’s no longer dying, Mycroft’s head will be fine and Sam’s… well, he could use getting sawed off at the knees, but we can’t always have everything.”

      “He didn’t get cut in the knees, Doctor Watson, it was more right there above his bum.”

      “Can we please stop talking about severed limbs and stitches and ooze and whatever else is about to come up!”

      “Oops!  Sorry, Skip.”

      “Yeah, sorry, mate.”

      “I, for one, am quite content with the topic of conversation.”

      “Sherlock, you’re this close to sleeping on the sofa tonight.”

      “Oh, don’t be angry, Doctor Watson.  Mr. Sherlock likes those things, so he _should_ want to talk about them.  I mean I like dogs and LOVE talking about them, but yeah… sometimes I get that same sort of squinty-eyed look from Skip, though he can’t make me sleep on the sofa, which wouldn’t actually be a bad thing since Mum has a very comfy sofa.  Skip didn’t mind when he had to sleep on it, did you Skip?”

      “Oh no… I loved being barred from the bedroom so you could spend all night working with your glue and feathers and jewels.”

      “Brilliant!  I told you it wouldn’t really be terrible with Mr. Hoppity keeping you company.  And I got the entire model for our engagement bracelets made, so it was very important that I got to concentrate on my work and make it a huge surprise, which it was!  And I told Mycroft I’d help him design _his_ engagement bracelets for when he asks Greg to marry him.  Which he will, even though he says he’s not thinking about that yet, which means he has to be thinking about it or he wouldn’t have known that he wasn’t thinking about it.”

Sherlock shot Arthur a look and John laughed at the intensity of his partner’s reaction.  Of course… if anyone would have a bead on Mycroft’s intentions, it would be Arthur.  In his own way, he was as much of a detective as Sherlock.

      “You had a conversation about marriage with my brother?”

      “Yep.  It won’t happen until Greg’s well, but just you watch.  One day Greg will come home from work and there will be a nice dinner laid out and Mycroft will dance with him afterwards and then ask Greg to be his husband and… oh, it’s so nice to think about.  They’ll make brilliant husbands.  Actually, if you didn’t know better you’d think they were married already!”

      “Now it is my turn to be ill.”

      “Oh, Mr. Sherlock.  Just think, Mycroft’s your brother so when they get married, Greg will be your brother, too.  You’ll have two brothers and that’s twice as nice as only having one, even though Mycroft is an excellent brother on his own.”

      “John!  A sick pail!”

      “Ok, another change in topic before I have to pass out anti-nausea medication to _two_ people.  Where are you and Martin planning on going for your honeymoon?”

Another groan from Martin and John gave himself a mental kick.  Honeymoons cost _money_.  Maybe he and Sherlock could chip in for a little getaway for Arthur and Martin as part of their wedding present.

      “You must plan properly so you do not find yourself in a country that frowns on sexual relations between men.”

John and Martin just shook their heads, but Arthur turned such a vibrant red, John actually worried he might get light-headed.  So far, they had the Christmas colors covered, so the doctor crossed his fingers nothing else happened to start adding Easter hues to the mix.

      “Why am I being stared at?  It is a valid concern.  It is to be expected that you would engage in a great quantity of sex during your honeymoon and it could be unsafe if the hotel staff shared their observations with unfriendly ears.”

There would be a small conversation when John got Sherlock alone.  The title would be Under No Circumstances Are You To Ever Use the Word Sex in Association With Arthur And Martin Ever Again Or I Will Kill You, You Bastard.  Some things… some things were just too difficult for his brain to process.  Mentally picturing happy, fluffy animals and candy hearts and tea… lots of tea…

      “You… don’t you even _think_ about Arthur that way!”

      “If you are going to hit me again, Martin, kindly allow me to set down my glass.  I’d rather not stain my shirt.”

      “Skip… you are _not_ going to hit Mr. Sherlock.  He’s just trying to be helpful.  And we haven’t planned our honeymoon, so that’s nice he’s thinking about how to make it as brilliant as it can be.”

Martin threw John a pleading look and was very happy the doctor seemed as disturbed as he was by the conversation.

      “Alright.  So gruesome injury, unattached body parts, people skinned for exhibition and sex are all officially topics to be considered off-limits for conversation for the remainder of the evening, if not forever.  Martin, do you second my motion?”

      “Seconded.  Eagerly.”

      “Then I call for a vote.  Right, motion carries.”

      “Halt!  You did not actually allow anyone to vote.”

      “You do not have the floor, Mr. Holmes, but since I’m feeling generous… I made the vote up in my head and believe me, it was unanimous.”

      “I dislike living in a dictatorship, John.”

      “I promise to be benevolent.  And I’m very easy to sway with the proper motivation.”

      “You are skirting very close to violating your own edict.”

      “True.  So, isn’t it convenient that you’re actually sounding very sleepy?”

      “I am?  Oh… you are being suggestive.”

      “Good catch.  Martin, Arthur… I think we’re calling an end to the night.  See you in the morning?”

      “Oh yes!  And I already have a brilliant idea for breakfast, so it will be a _fantastic_ morning!”

      “Goodnight, John.  And thank you.”

John pulled his partner up from the sofa and tugged him out of the study, leaving a very relieved Martin in his wake.

      “Well, love… it’s just us, now.  The fire still’s strong, the sofa’s vacant, I’ll need a few minutes before I have any more sherry.  Sounds like it’s the perfect time for a little cuddle.”

      “Really?”

      “I’m limbering my lips in preparation.”

      “Limber-lipped kisses are _very_ nice.”

      “Then let’s take advantage.  Once we leave London, it won’t be as easy to get a cozy-fire cuddle.”

      “Well, until we get our little house.”

      “With the garden.”

      “And a sunny kitchen?”

      “And anything else you want, love.”

      “Anything?”

      “Make a list.  Then we’ll talk.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere and continued gratitude for the wonderful support for this story...

Mycroft was quite content that, beyond a small check-in by the other family members, he and Letstrade had been left alone the remainder of the evening, providing bountiful time to relax in each other’s company and continue to build/rebuild the bridges between them.  However, the elder Holmes was more than slightly grateful when his lover fell asleep because he knew the day had been difficult and stressful for the man who was already fighting his own battles for health.  However, those battles did seem to be bringing benefits and Mycroft was cautiously losing his fears that some new disaster would befall the Detective Inspector and again savage his well-being.  He had taken a few hours of sleep himself, though, he had woken for a small stroll to gain a moment of relief, which took far longer and was far more painful to accomplish than he had hoped and, as a result, he had yet to be able to return to sleep.  The worst consequence of this was that he was awake when the horrifying American crept into the room to make an inspection of the two patients.  A long look was given to Lestrade’s chart and a quick, but gentle examination followed that left Lestrade blisfully asleep, which relieved Mycroft to no end.  Through very slightly cracked and hand-obscured eyes, Mycroft watched the insufferable American make a few notes on Lestrade’s chart and then stand next to the bed, smiling at the sleeping man in a manner that Mycroft hoped he properly interpreted as being satisfied with his Gregory’s progress.

      “You play possum for shit, Mycroft.  Here’s a tip, tape yourself while you’re sleeping and listen to your breathing.  Try and copy that when you’re pretending to sleep and you might actually fool someone.”

Cur.  But it _was_ an interesting and easily accomplished suggestion…

      “I had no desire to pretend I was anything other than awake; I simply saw no reason to engage you in conversation when, first, you were focused on Gregory and, second, I have no desire to converse with you at any time.”

      “Oh, then I’m definitely going to sit here and bother you for awhile instead of crawling home.”

Mycroft held out some small hope that his nemesis was joking, but as the doctor slowly lowered himself into a chair, he realized it had been foolish to think the doctor would do something that would _not_ irritate him to distraction.

      “I feel the pull of lethargy this very moment, so if you be so kind as to return to your own bed…”

      “I’ve slept enough for six people already.  I’m bored, you’re fun, so entertain me.”

      “You have not remotely enjoyed a full night’s rest and I would wager that your sadly aged body would benefit from more sleep.  That you began now.  In your own room.”

      “You know, I would actually laugh at that if laughing didn’t make me ooze faster.  I’ll replace the shirt, by the way.  I’ve got a great one that says “Beer, Boobs and Butts” that’d look aces on you.”

      “If you burn that atrocity along with the one you are currently wearing, I shall be appeased.”

      “Just when _did_ the accident occur where they wound up removing your funny side?”

      “I care not whether you find me amusing as I have no urge to provide you with entertainment.  Please make yourself absent.”

      “I get all the entertainment I need just looking at you.  Oh, and you need a touchup, by the way.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “Your hair.  Forgot about that with all that’s going on, didn’t you?  Well, I doubt the others have picked up on it yet, but you’d better load up your paintbrush because those roots are going to be noticeable soon.”

      “I will inform John to withhold your pain medication as it has obviously impaired your thinking.”

Roots.  How utterly ridiculous.  His roots would not be problematic for several more weeks at the very minimum.

      “Hey, I get it!  You want to look your best and you’ve got a stressful make-you-go-gray job… let’s see, when did _I_ start to notice my river of silver starting to run…”

Hades had be a far more restful location than any place where Samuel Harris could be found.

      “Every day I find new reasons to wish you deceased.”

      “Well, that escalated quickly.  From giving you a friendly piece of advice to getting a death wish.  Taking a page from my book now, are you Skinny?”

Mycroft was not in the mood for a back-and-forth with the pestiferous doctor and sincerely hoped he would simply leave so he could continue to enjoy a quiet night with the man they were speaking softly to avoid waking.

      “What an outlandish notion.  I doubt your so-called book could be deciphered by any member of the human species.”

      “Then you’re in the running you friggin’ snake.  God, but you’re testy tonight.”

      “I was resting quietly, only to have said rest destroyed by your intrusive presence.  Depart while I am still in a frame of mind to forgive you your inconsiderate behavior.”

      “Oh come on… you’re not going to back to sleep and you know it.  No use laying there getting bored when you could spend the time productively by listening to my reasons why I should be declared number eight on the Wonders of the World list.”

      “Perhaps I simply desire a night uninterrupted by your incessant posturing and completely uninteresting conversation.”

      “Perhaps _I_ simply want to make sure you’re doing alright and the best way to do that is to talk to you to see how well your brain’s working.”

Mycroft was not prepared to admit to _himself_ that the doctor had a point, let alone make such an admission to the doctor in question.

      “John is more than sufficient a medical opinion, I do not need an additional one, especially one that is dubious in the extreme.”

The darkness that had been threading through the doctor’s eyes confused the elder Holmes, but not to the point that he was going to waste mental energy on its analysis.

      “Ok, fair… but that doesn’t mean this dubious opinion still might not worry about his patient.”

      “I am _not_ your patient; let us be very clear on that issue.  I have no use for you or your overwrought attempts to demonstrate that you actually possess a license to practice medicine.  Moreover, I would wager your purported worry is more connected to your continued paycheck than a genuine concern for my welfare.”

The American’s silence lasted only a moment, but it was enough to make Mycroft uncomfortable, and watching the man slowly and unsteadily rise from his chair and move to leave did not ease his discomfort as he would have expected.

      “Yeah, that’s my _biggest_ worry.  Look, I’ll be gone by the time you rise and shine tomorrow and I won’t be back for awhile.  John’ll get me if he needs me, though.”

      “Samuel…”

      “See ya, Mycroft.”

No, his discomfort was not eased in the least.  The man was in pain, undoubtedly still fatigued, yet devoted time and energy to verifying his Gregory’s condition and… his own, as well.  Samuel was a blight, but he properly tended to his duties and had never delivered anything but exceptional care to his love or fail to perform anything but flawlessly for his role for the playacting into which he had been conscripted.  None a bit of which he had wanted the onset.  Not to take private employment, not to participate in the great façade… yet he _had_ done so and, to date, received nothing for his efforts.  Pulling at the corners of his mind was also the very distressing thought that the man may have simply desired some company.  He was hurt and alone and Mycroft had _some_ experience with that particular, disheartening situation.   Could it be that the infantile man, seeing he was awake, envisioned an opportunity to share a bit of time?  To ease the isolation and provide distraction from the pain?

Even if none of that was true, there was a bitter taste in Mycroft’s mouth at the knowledge that he had cast the American out with insults that could not, easily, be interpreted as teasing.  Which they were not, in any case.  Mycroft had held out hope that his lifetime supply of guilt had been depleted with his actions towards his partner, but found he had, apparently, a large storehouse that had yet to be tapped.  Samuel was truly a plague boil, but he did not deserve to be dismissed in such a manner, especially carrying the nearly-mortal injury that had been meant for another.  Who was suffering currently a headache and little else.  And, if one believed John, which was a questionable action at best, the man’s particularly enraging behavior was indication of a feeling of camaraderie…

With a stifled groan, Mycroft pushed his way out of his bed and, after a check that his Detective Inspector was still asleep, steadied himself and started a slow walk to find the American doctor, meeting with no surprise when he located him in the study, pouring some very expensive scotch into a glass.

      “Goddam it, Skinny!  You should _not_ be up and at ‘em right now.”

      “Neither should you, so we are well-matched.  And I would further argue you should not be imbibing a lethal quantity of fine spirits with your current level of pain medication.”

      “And I will argue you’re wrong since I’m not on any pain medication right now.  Hah!  I win.  Now, you wanted peace and quiet – go and get some.”

      “Samuel… that is preposterous.  I shall fetch John and…”

      “Nope.  That’d just wake him up for no reason since I’m not having any of what he’s pushing.  Seriously, those pills are for shit and make me loopy.  I have other stuff at home that’ll work and since I’ll be there very soon, it’s all good.  See?  Got myself a substitute in the meantime and it tastes a LOT better than nasty ol’ medicine.”

Sam waggled the glass at Mycroft and took a long sip that ended with a very contented sigh.

      “If you provide me with the name of the medication you prefer, I shall have it delivered immediately.”

      “I think you missed the part about me being home shortly.  Just let me have a minute and I’ll be out of your hair, ok?  I’ll pay for the scotch, too, if that’ll square things.”

What was troubling Mycroft most of all was the lack of fire in the doctor’s voice.  Not a profanity to speak of and no… flame.  It reminded him far too greatly of Arthur’s voice when it had lost its own spark of enthusiasm.

      “I am not concerned about the liquor, Samuel.  I would ask that you revisit your decision to leave; you are not well and it would behoove you to take advantage of the amenities I can offer, in addition to John’s careful eye on your condition.”

The soft chuckle the doctor made as he slowly sank onto Mycroft’s couch very obviously had nothing to do with amusement.  For his part, Mycroft opted to rest himself on the corner of his desk and most certainly not because it would make him the taller person in the room.

      “Let’s go balls to the wall, Mycroft.  You don’t want me here and that’s fine.  I know I’m not an easy person to be around sometimes and that’s caused me more than _this_ bag of mess in my lifetime.  Maybe I thought since the others were ok with me, you’d be, too, but you’re not and… whatever.   You don’t have to be.  It’s a shame, though, since I don’t meet many people who’ve got as much on the ball as you do.  Who can keep up with my nonsense, if they wanted to.  Thought maybe you’d realize that I’m not trying to… you know what, it doesn’t matter.  I’ll call a cab and you won’t see me for a few days.  Maybe during that time you guys will realize you don’t need me anymore and I can just write this off from the hospital as vacation time, along with a few extra days to recuperate a little more.  We’ll see how it goes… Now, if you’ll excuse me, you need to get yourself back in bed and I need to finish this up.”

      “Samuel, I…”

He what?  Was ashamed at his rudeness?  That was not _entirely_ the case.  Guilty at treating poorly someone who may have saved his life?  That also did not ring _perfectly_ true.  Was not comfortable with the notion that Samuel was correct, that there was someone in his home whose mind was not, oddly, dissimilar to his and that… was not agreeable?

      “I would again ask you to reconsider.  In any circumstance, it is not my approval that is relevant, but Gregory’s and he would be very upset were you to either neglect your own health or step down as his physician and I cannot allow that in this stage of his recovery.”

Mycroft watched the doctor shake his head slowly and again chuckle quietly and humorously.

      “Greg’ll be fine.  Probably better since he won’t have to suffer through you not being happy with things.  He’s sensitive to your moods and I do _not_ want him wasting needed energy trying to slap a smile on your face.  Oh look, I’m out of scotch.  Luckily, I have a great big bottle at home that’s calling to me.  Time to go…”

Sam started to rise from the sofa, wincing sharply and Mycroft moved quickly to help, which he suddenly found to be a very unsound idea as his head began to spin and the floor started to very rudely rise up to meet him.  In the next breath he was being yanked upwards and held in place while the room slowed to at least a non-nauseating number of revolutions per minute.

      “Mycie!  You stupid fuck!  Didn’t I tell you no…no fast movements?”

Mycroft blinked a few times and tried to swat away the doctor’s hands on his shoulders, but Sam was having none of it, choosing instead to start walking Mycroft back to his room, so slowly and haltingly that Mycroft began to suspect the pace and level of support was not simply for _his_ benefit.

      “Mycroft!  Doctor Sam!  Why are you awake?  Why are you standing?  Neither of you should be awake or standing and if both of you are doing that it must be something important… what is it?”

The two older men felt their first tickle of a good mood while staring at Arthur in his koala pajamas and smiling slippers.

      “Nothing important, kid.  Old folks don’t sleep as much as you young cusses and sometimes we just get a little antsy and need a walk.  Why are you up?  You hear the call of the waterfall?”

      “Come again?”

      “Going for a pee?”

      “Oh!  No, actually.  I wanted some water and…”

Arthur’s explanation stopped short and his face filled with a look of distress that Mycroft, unfortunately, recognized.  With a small tug, he pulled himself out of the doctor’s grasp to trace the path of the boy’s gaze, hissing at the growing stain of blood on the American’s side.

      “You injured yourself.”

      “I was already injured.  This… I just opened things up a little.  I’ll make repairs when I get home.”

      “Arthur, wake John.”

      “Arthur, ignore him.  It’s nothing.”

      “No… no, I’m sorry, Doctor Sam, but I know you’ve got a bandage on under your shirt and if you’re starting to get…stuff… on your shirt it had to go through the bandage first and that’s a lot of… stuff… so you need help and Doctor Watson is the best person to give you the help.  I’ll be right back.”

Arthur turned and ran towards John and Sherlock’s bedroom, while Mycroft suffered a sharp punch to the chest.

      “What is wrong with you?  I could have slid out of here…”

      “Are you utterly insane?  You have reinjured yourself!  Do you honestly believe that postponing assistance is a wise course of action?”

      “If it gets me home, yes!  That’s where I want to be because I’ll heal up better alone and, frankly, I really don’t need any more of your hostility right now!  Is that what you want to hear?  That I’m tired and this hurts like a son of a bitch and having you spit at me just isn’t something I can easily grin away at the moment?”

Mycroft reared back, feeling the words more forcefully than the hit to his flesh but what shook him as badly was not the anger, but the regret, that suffused the doctor’s expression.

      “Shit… I’m sorry, Mycroft.  Really, forget all of that, because I didn’t mean it.  Not a word… sometimes I snap when I’m angry and I say things I don’t mean.  Look, I’m just gonna go and…”

      “Stop!  If you force my hand I will prevent you from leaving.”

      “Skinny, with those wobbly legs, if I sneeze right now, you’re toppling over.”

      “Be that as it may, I shall try my best.”

      “Look here…”

Sam’s rebuttal was cut short by John’s wide-eyed arrival, with Arthur and Sherlock only steps behind.

      “Christ!  What happened!”

Sam shot a quick look at Mycroft and grinned widely.

      “Nothing interesting.  Mycroft and I were talking, I got up too fast from couch-warming and twisted wrong.  It’s not a big deal, John.  I’ve got supplies at home and I’ll take care of it there.”

John and Arthur’s combined and noisy thoughts to the contrary were punctuated by Sherlock casually moving closer as if he were preparing to take action if the stubborn doctor decided to make a break for freedom.

      “You seem to be outvoted, Samuel, and you Americans do claim to prize democracy and the majority vote.”

      “Remind me to give you a lecture on the Electoral College, Skinny.  Ok, John… if I let you take a peek, will you let me finally just go home?”

It was the slight desperation in Sam’s voice that convinced John that under no circumstances was the man leaving anytime soon.  He’d heard that desperation often enough with the injured… it was almost a feral instinct to crawl away from all possible threats and find a safe, familiar place to heal.  But it wasn’t a good frame of mind for someone who needed, for _many_ reasons, to have their care monitored.

      “Let’s take a look and then we can make some decisions.  Come on, we can use your room…”

      “I’m coming, too.”

Everyone turned to look at Arthur who started blushing from the attention.

      “Doctor Watson might need some help and… and I know how to do that type of help now, so I should go, too.”

John opened his mouth to tell Arthur that he’d be fine alone, but Sam interjected with another wide and utterly false smile.

      “Glad to have you, kid!  Best nurse in London… who wouldn’t want you in their corner?”

      “Brilliant!  Right then… you lean on me, since I’m taller than Doctor Watson and you’re very tall and shouldn’t have to bend over so much since you have to bend at your side and that’s where your cut is so hold onto my shoulder and we’ll walk.  Come on, Doctor Watson!  We’re walking!”

John ignored Sam’s mouthed ‘shorty’ and followed along, shooting a look at Sherlock which, hopefully, his partner would correctly interpret as a plea to get his brother safely back in bed.

      “Go to bed.”

      “How caring of you, Sherlock.   John will be very proud.”

      “Caring is not required on my part.  Obedience is, however, required on your part.  I will not aggrieve John by allowing you to fail to follow his directive.”

      “Very well.  Since I have been parted from Gregory for an unacceptable length of time, I will agree to the doctor’s wishes.”

      “Then it is settled.  Do not, however, expect me to provide support in any manner that requires physical contact.  If necessary, I shall find rope to tie to your feet to pull you to your destination.”

Mycroft had to wonder if there was a time Sherlock would ever show him any legitimate concern.  Perhaps at his funeral... though Mycroft had doubts about that, too.

      “That is an acceptable arrangement.  However, should this come to pass, do use a thick rope.  I would rather you not sever my feet.”

      “John _would_ be unhappy to tend to a double-amputation.”

      “Yes, that would vex him considerably.”

__________

Sherlock deposited his brother at his bedroom door since Mycroft refused to be escorted into his own space, which might disturb Lestrade.  With a sharp, shared glare, Sherlock announced his return to bed and Mycroft tried to sneak into his temporary room as quietly as possible, but it was not sufficiently quiet to leave his partner asleep.

      “What in the world are you doing sneaking around?”

      “I assure you, there was no sneaking involved.”

Lestrade knew he lacked the Holmes ability to read faces and voices, but he wasn’t terrible at it, either.

      “What’s wrong, love?”

Mycroft considered avoiding the question, but he had promised himself honesty with his Detective Inspector and it would not do to break that vow, especially over something he likely _should_ share with his Gregory.

      “Samuel and I had a… conversation.  In the course of our discussion, Samuel reinjured himself and is currently being tended by John and, fittingly, Arthur.”

Being on the receiving end of a glare was not nearly as pleasant as being on the performing side.

      “What are you leaving out?”

      “Is it enough that I say our discussion was difficult on both our parts and I have not fully processed the information?”

      “It’s enough if all I care about is not knowing anything important.  Talk to me, Mycroft.  You’ve got that fake, flat smile going on and that means you’re not happy about something.”

Item… reconfigure facial expressions so that Arthur and Gregory cannot decipher them so readily.

      “Very well.  I was somewhat rude to Samuel and he was in a poor frame of mind to experience it.  As I sought to make apology… which I realize now I never had the opportunity to offer… I became lightheaded and, in his rush to assistance, Samuel caused himself harm.  I would expect that he has reopened his injury and John is now working to rectify the situation.”

      “How bad?”

      “The bleeding was rather worrying.”

      “Poor Sam… what’d you say to him?”

      “It is irrelevant for I believe the issue will resolve itself.”

Mycroft did not at all like the look on his lover’s face… it was far too close to disappointment.

      “If you said something… do what you have to, say what you need to make things right.  Don’t wait for it to magically fix itself because I can tell you… it won’t.”

And his partner was highly qualified to make such an evaluation, much to Mycroft’s everlasting shame.

      “It was not a specific thing, my dear, simply a… a release of frustration and fatigue brought on by Samuel’s typical and ridiculous behaviors.  However, my tongue was more bitter than he deserved and he had not his usual mental barriers to ignore my terseness.”

And he would not, not for a moment, consider the doctor’s final speech… though the man had taken back his words and apologized, Mycroft was not so foolish as to believe the American had not meant exactly what he had said.  It had been there, clear as crystal, in his eyes.

      “Then apologize.  I know you’re in rough shape, love, and I’ll admit that Sam’s personality and yours may not mix in the best of times, but he’s in _worse_ shape and I think he really needs a little easy handling right now.  I mean… you saw how shredded he was by the time John got him into bed.  And he got that way by trying to take care of other people, including you.  Just say you’re sorry, ok?  Can you do that?”

      “I can do anything to which I put my mind, Gregory.”

Immediately Mycroft regretted his words.  Truly, this was not a night for cogent thinking.

      “Yeah, and that’s what makes it hurt so badly when you leave something undone.  It means you didn’t _want_ to do it.  But… if that’s really the case, if whatever you said or did was something you stand by, then… well, then let it be, I guess.  There’s something to be said for honestly, even when it tears at your throat.”

That was not something Mycroft could deny, however, he also knew that he _did_ harbor regret for how his words affected the American doctor.  They were all experiencing effects from the past days and he should have given more thought to his statements.  And he _had_ , possibly, been considering an apology when he first made his approach…

      “I shall speak with him at the first opportunity, my dear.  I recognize that he has been good for you and has stood strongly in support of young Arthur, both things for which he deserves better than the shabby treatment he received.”

      “Just don’t write him a letter, ok?  I’d like to think I’m the only one who gets one of those.”

Mycroft turned to more fully look at his lover and marveled at how his Gregory’s smile could bring a full sun’s worth of light to a room.

      “No one shall ever, so long as I live, receive such a letter, for it held my heart and I have already given that away.”

      “Do you have any idea how much I love the romantic side of you?”

      “I have a small inkling, but I am anxiously awaiting lessons to further my understanding.”

      “You know… this bed’s not as narrow as it looks.”

      “True, however, I shall not risk jostling you, even to feel your warmth for a night.”

      “Soon?”

      “Absolutely as soon as it is feasible.  I shall… I shall confer with Samuel as to the most aggressive timetable that can be set to achieve that much-desired goal.”

      “I told you he had his uses.”

      “As always, my dear, I bow to your greater wisdom.”

__________

      “Stop groping me!”

      “Then take your shirt off!  I have no idea why you have to be so stubborn, but it’s not helping, Sam.”

      “Doctor Sam, you really should listen to Doctor Watson.  I’m sure you’d like to get fixed up as soon as you can and I would think you’d want to do everything you could to make it easy for Doctor Watson and me to do just that!  It can’t be nice to be all sticky, on top of being all achy and if you give us a chance you won’t be either of those anymore.”

John decided then and there that if he had to continue to tend to either Sam or Mycroft, Arthur would be present at every examination and procedure because neither man seemed to have any capacity to refuse the young steward anything.  Already Sam’s body was releasing its pent-up tension and his fingers were beginning to undo his buttons.

      “Well, if you’re going to gang up on me, like that, what chance do I have?  You sure you want to be here, though, Arthur?  This quack can handle things and I’m sure your snuggle-buggle would prefer you to be back snuggle-buggling rather than getting your hands dirty with my oil leak.”

      “Of course I want to be here!  Well, it is true I’d rather be here and we were just having a nice chat or playing cards or having a snack, but I also want to be here because I may be able to help.  And what if Doctor Watson does something new that I haven’t seen?  I can’t miss that, because I could need it someday as part of my job!”

      “Sounds good to me, so let’s take a look and see this what this ancient, yet surprisingly annoying, mummy has under his wrappings.  You want to do a little cleaning so I can have a look?”

      “Yes!  Right!  And I already know how to do that, Doctor Watson, so this will be easy.”

Arthur got to cleaning and John had to grin at how eager the young man seemed about wiping up the flow of blood from Sam’s wound.  Apparently, all Arthur needed was a purpose and he could do anything.

      “Well… it looks like you undid most of your hard work though, you feeble old rubbish… Arthur, your sutures stayed nicely intact and doing their job, though.  Well done.”

      “Brilliant!  Oh, I wish I had my camera…”

      “I think this is one scrapbook you won’t be able to show around to a lot of people, kid.”

      “Oh, you might be right, Doctor Sam.  Not everyone has training in being a doctor’s assistant and could feel a bit sick seeing pictures of brains and stitches.  But I don’t mind them, well, not anymore, so it’ll just be for me and Skip.  And you and Doctor Watson and Mr. Sherlock and Mycroft and Greg, of course.  Douglas won’t mind, either, because he went to medical school for… well, for a little while.  And Mum won’t care because she’s Mum, so it’ll just be a family album.  That’s a great thing, really!  A nice family album of brains and stitches…”

While Arthur talked, John readied his supplies and sent a silent prayer heavenward that his insane friend would just come to his senses and let himself rest and heal.  Arthur might not notice, but John saw every bit of pain Sam was feeling in the new creases at the corners of the American’s eyes and mouth.  How could one of the smartest men he’d ever met be so incredibly stupid?  Well, there were ways to deal with stupidity…

      “Arthur, you want to take the reins here and I’ll go and get your camera?  Maybe take a shot of you actually doing the work?  That’d make a nice cover picture for your album.”

      “Brilliant!  Oh thank you, Doctor Watson!  That would be amazing!”

Sam cocked an eye at the other doctor in the room, but John just smiled and strolled out of the room.

      “You really did yourself a mischief, Doctor Sam.  This is… well, it’s rather scary now, even more than it was before because you’ve got the stitches and, I don’t know what’s so scary about stitches, but they really are very disturbing, although I’m not _as_ scared of them anymore but… whulb.”

      “Nice of you to put down the syringe before you shook yourself like that.  Very kind, I like that about you, Arthur.”

      “Thanks!  I don’t understand people who can’t be kind, I mean… it’s easy!  And it makes people happy and what could be better than that?”

Sam understood unkind people very well and counted himself among them most of the time, but… it made his days a little brighter knowing there were people like Arthur out there in the world.  Maybe not many, but enough to tip the scales against folks like him.

      “Not a thing.  Now, how about you get to pricking so I can get back to leaving.”

      “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Doctor Sam.  I really, really don’t and if I think something’s a bad idea… well, it probably is more than a bit bad.”

      “Let’s see… at home I’ve got my bed, my meds, my booze, my clothes… And with Sammy coming along, I’ll even have company.  Really, Arthur, this is for the best and I promise that I’ll stop by and check on things in a few days.”

      “I could get your things and bring them here and then it would be like you were at home!  Except you’d have Doctor Watson right there and all of the doctor things Mycroft brought in and I can make your meals and you could watch films with us and maybe make some crafts, because that always helps me when I’m not feeling well and…”

      “Arthur, I am not joining your Holly Hobby cult.  Sorry, but I have to stand outside the compound fence for this one, ok?  It’ll help Mycroft, too, if I’m out of here pronto.  Give him a chance to get his own head straightened out without my glory making it spin.”

      “Well, I don’t know about Miss Hobby, but Mycroft does get a bit spinny when you’re around.  I don’t think he’s used to people like you, even though you think he’d be used to just about every kind of person since he must run into a lot of different types while trying to run everything in the world.”

      “Well, my type tends to sneak around under the radar, so I’m not surprised he’s missed us. But, getting some time away from my nonsense will be good for him and what’s good for him is good for his bed-ridden bunkmate, so I will be going home as soon as you’ve got me stitched up.  Now, start sticking and sewing or I’m just going to slap some duct tape over the whole business and call it a night.”

      “Right!  Yes… sticking and sewing… I can come and visit you, though, can’t I  Skip and I can come and visit and have a little chat and maybe check that you’re doing well and have something to do and to eat and you’ve got clean clothes and bring Sammy a new outfit?”

      “Arthur, it’s just a couple of days…”

      “A lot can happen in a couple of days, Doctor Sam.  I mean, in a couple of days, you and Mycroft got hurt, I had my chat with my dad… a LOT can happen in a couple of days.”

Well, Sam couldn’t argue with that.  It didn’t take more than a moment to change your entire life and there were more than a few moments in a couple of days…

      “Sure, Arthur.  You’re welcome to visit.  Bring by some of your gut-stripping coffee and a deck of cards and we’ll make an afternoon of it.”

      “Hurray!  And I’ve got all my sticks done!”

      “A Pro!  I hereby proclaim you a sticking Pro.  I’m telling you… I have to fly anywhere and I’m doing it on your plane because I know for sure anything happens I’ve got you to count on to make it right.”

      “Well, you’re not flying anywhere for a couple of weeks, at least.  No airline will let you on if you’re dripping your insides onto their carpets.”  

      “That’s shows how little you know, John.  Pay for first class and you can drip whatever you want on the carpet and they’ll still give you booze for free.  Believe me, I’ve stained the best airlines in existence and some that don’t even fly anymore.  You do _not_ want to know what I did to Boeing…”

      “No, I really don’t.”

      “I do!”

      “Arthur, take my advice… when he tries to tempt you with a story, resist with all your might.  It won’t end well, there’s just no possible way it will.  Now, smile while you work and I’ll get some pics.”

      “Brilliant!  I’ll try to look extra doctory, too.”

While Arthur started to replace Sam’s destroyed sutures, John took a number of photos moving closer to his friend until…

      “Fuck!  What did you just do?”

      “Me?  I didn’t do anything!  Did I hurt you?  I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean…”

      “Not you, kid… that sack of worm-infested dog shit.”

      “I think he means you, Doctor Watson.”

      “Yeah, I got that.  And I figured old Sam wouldn’t mind one extra stick what will all the needles going into him today.”

      “You flrking axlshol.”

      “Bye bye.”

One large body fell over onto the mattress and Arthur poked it a few times on the leg.

      “Doctor Watson… I do believe Doctor Sam is asleep.”

      “And will be for quite awhile.  When you’re finished we’ll get him settled in bed and won’t have to worry about him doing anything ridiculous for a long time.”

      “Did you, perhaps, do something a little sneaky?”

      “I look at it as fulfilling my medical oath.  Doing what it takes to keep the patient safe.”

      “But… well, it’s not for _too_ too long, right?  He _did_ have some good reasons for going home and I was going to check on him to make sure he was alright…”

John patted Arthur on the shoulder and gave him a smile.

      “As soon as he’s gotten some time off of his feet and I can be sure he’s not going to do something completely crazy, then I’ll sign his release papers and you can do all the at-home visits you want to make sure he’s still among the living.”

      “Oh, ok then.  And he does look happier now that’s he’s asleep.”

      “Like a big wrinkled baby.  So, you going to get the job done or do you want me to step in?”

      “I’ll do it.  I’m not sure how much practice I’ll be able to get so every little bit helps if I want to do my best.”

      “That’s true.  I’ll just sit right here and snap some more photos.”

      “Oh, and could you make a video?  I could use that to remind myself what to do if I start to forget.”

      “One medical video on its way.”

      “Hurray!  And Doctor Sam can watch it when he wakes up.  I’m sure he’d be very interested in watching how well I sew.  I’m not sure how much he really saw last time since he was a bit bleary eyed.”

      “Don’t worry, I’ll film every second and if you want to, you might hum or something for a soundtrack.”

      “Yes!  The Sewing Song!  Here goes… Needles and thread, keep you undead, wait!  No… that means you’re a zombie or a vampire so… Needles and thread, keep you not dead… sewing sewing sewing, it stops the blood from flowing…”

      “This is BAFTA material, Arthur.”

      “Brilliant!”

__________

One large American, unconscious in his bed, one very happy steward showing off his video to his very green fiancé, who was dragged out of his own bed for the occasion and John was brewing up tea for everyone who was awake, which currently numbered three.

      “And here, this is where Doctor Watson showed me how to do the stitches a little differently, so you can see where these first ones are different from the other ones.  Isn’t that amazing!  Just like the different stitches they drew on the side of Mum’s sewing machine!”

      “Lovely… really, just wonderful.”

      “Skip, your eyes are looking at the ceiling.”

      “I’m exercising my peripheral vision.”

      “Oh, well that’s a good thing.  Exercise is very important.  Oh!  We should get an exercise room in our little house!  They have those, you know, with all sorts of fun machines and balls and jump ropes.  Brilliant!  We can have a big exercise room and you can work on your vision and I’ll jump rope and then we can go and have a swim, unless it’s cold in which case we can have a skate… this is going to be the best little house ever!”

A little house that was going to bigger than Carolyn’s and need actual _grounds_ if Arthur got everything he wanted.  Must keep all information away from…

      “Mycroft!  Oh, you shouldn’t be out of bed!  But look, Doctor Watson and I made a video of me sewing up Doctor Sam, so everyone can see how it’s done!”

Mycroft took the phone from Arthur and kept the smile on his face, although his guilt wanted to melt it off of his face.  As he had feared, the foolish man had seriously hurt himself in keeping _him_ from potentially suffering another trauma.  The depth of commitment must be necessary to properly perform as a medical professional, but it was irritating, nonetheless.

      “Oh, very good.  Your technique is impeccable.  As Martin was somewhat of a clumsy child, your burgeoning skillset will likely be a great boon to your household.  And, should you make joyful additions to your family… there will ever be some scrape or bump to be dealt with.”

      “I hadn’t thought of that!  Skip, when we have kiddies, I can take care of them!  I’m definitely going to learn everything I can now and with Doctor Watson and Doctor Sam, I have lots of people to teach me!”

Which was an opening Mycroft could use to inquire about his archenemy.  Not that he truly cared about the man’s welfare, of course, beyond the necessity of making funeral arrangements should the situation arise.

      “And where is Samuel now?  Did they graciously agree to open the circle of hell reserved for the sowers of chaos to make his welcome?”

      “Well, he was going to go home, but Doctor Watson gave him a shot of something that made Doctor Sam fall asleep.  That’s why you don’t hear him saying anything in my video.”

Mycroft looked over at John who smiled and waved as he prepared another cup of tea for the newly-arrived Holmes.  He had to admit, a chemical solution to the problem had not quite occurred to him and, although he would prefer to have the doctor recovering under his own roof, at least he would be spared the man’s unending monologue for the duration.

      “My compliments, John.  Exceptionally wise, given the circumstances.”

      “Thanks, and to restate Arthur’s question, why are _you_ out of bed?”

Because his mind would simply not settle itself enough to permit sleep and he did not want his own internal discord to disturb his partner.

      “A small matter of business that required my attention.  My body is not attuned to larger quantities of sleep, in any case, and I find I have exceeded my comfortable limit.”

John delivered Mycroft’s tea and took a moment to check over his temporary patient for any sign of a problem.

      “I assure you, John, that beyond a lingering headache and some… fleeting moments of lightheadedness… I am quite well.”

      “Mycroft, if you are experiencing _any_ lightheadedness, you should be taking it very easy and very carefully.  The last thing I want to have to do is keep you from meeting the floor.”

The brief flash of unease that lit Mycroft’s face suddenly gave John a very good clue as to how Sam actually tore himself apart.

      “And I have no wish to ask that of you, so I shall give my word to be cautious in my behaviors.”      

      “Don’t worry, Mycroft, if you start to fall, Skip or I will catch you.  Oh!  We could tie pillows to you so that if you fall, you’ll just fall on soft pillows and since your pillows are very soft, it won’t hurt at all.  Oh again!  If no one was home and you couldn’t get up, you could have a comfy nap until someone got here to help you.  Skip!  Go and find some rope while I collect the pillows.”

      “Thank you, dear boy, but I believe that shall be unnecessary.  In the event of a disabling collapse, I shall have my mobile on my person and assistance is but a small touch away.”

      “Well, alright, but will you at least carry a pillow with you when you take a bath?  You won’t have your phone in there and it’s slippery.  A whirly head and a slippery floor… No, I think you need to promise to carry two pillows.  At least until your head stands still.”

      “Yeah, Mycroft.  Two big, fat pillows to go with your rubber duck.”

      “Your sense of humor, Martin, never fails to surprise me.  I would suppose you had one, yet I always find myself shocked that you, in fact, do not.”

      “SPEAKING of humor, Arthur, want to help me get breakfast started?”

      “Brilliant!  And yes I would, Doctor Watson.  I love cooking breakfast when it’s still dark outside.  It’s like when you’re a little kid and you get to stay up very late and you decide on a snack and it’s very dark outside and very late and you feel so… well, I don’t know a word for it but you definitely feel it.”

      “Then we’ll make this this breakfast especially special.”

      “Yes!  And Mycroft still has some chutney and there are lots of eggs and bananas…”

      “It’s no wonder why Sherlock wants you to teach him to cook.”      

      “Really?  Skip Brilliant!  We can start at lunch!”

      “I’ll make sure he knows.  Believe me, he’ll be thrilled.”

__________

Sherlock appeared during their fortifying breakfast, freshly showered and, after eating a surprising half-plate of food, declared Mycroft’s study off-limits for the duration as he had ‘research’ to conduct and required a computer.  Arthur decided it was ‘finish his pot’ day and that he and Martin would spend the morning at the art studio finishing their ceramics.  After the two of them left the kitchen to get ready for their artistic endeavor, John, brewed more tea and took the opportunity to do a better examination of Mycroft’s head and quickly change the bandage.  The room was rather pointedly quiet, until the elder Holmes finally broke the silence with a question he had to have answered if he wanted to gain _any_ sleep today.

      “John, Samuel _is_ well, isn’t he?”

      “As well as can be expected after pulling most of his five hundred stitches.”

      “But that has been repaired, correct?”

      “Yeah, Arthur put in new sutures and I supervised.  He’ll have a uglier scar to live with and with the additional disruption, things will take longer to heal with more chance of infection, but… yeah, he’s been repaired.  Now, if I can just _keep_ him repaired… he has a frightening ability to find ways of getting into trouble.”

      “Quite.  Now, shall we return and determine Gregory’s status this morning?”

It was the clipped way that Mycroft delivered his ‘quite’ that almost made John ask if there was anything the older Holmes wanted to talk about, but he pushed aside the thought when he considered how unwelcome his intrusion would be.  If something had happened between Sam and Mycroft, it was their business and neither would appreciate any other nose being stuck into it.  Instead, John simply gave Mycroft an arm to grab onto as he rose from his chair and followed him back to their in-house hospital ward.

      “There you are!  I wondered where you’d got off to.  John, you mind putting a bell around his neck so I can keep an ear on Mycroft’s comings and goings?”

      “If your implication is that my movements are stealthy and cat-like, I find myself appreciating the comparison.”

      “Bell, John!”

      “Calm down, Greg.  I really don’t need another one of you lot blowing out your sutures; Arthur’s done enough doctoring for today.”

      “Arthur got to step up, again?  Good lad… how’s Sam doing, anyway?”

      “He’ll be fine, especially after he wakes up from a very large number of hours of sleep.”

      “You gave him something didn’t you?”

      “Your suspicion is insulting.”

      “Was it something good?”

      “Oh yeah, best there is.  Now, unless _you_ want a syringe of that, settle down and let me give you a look over… ah, I see our sleepy angel got in here last night and updated your chart.  Quite nice of him seeing as how he should have been tending to his own aches and pains.  I’m telling you, Mycroft, you might need to threaten to withhold his wages if he doesn’t just listen to reason and take it slowly.”

Mycroft made a mental note to have a thank you gift sent to the dear Doctor Watson for driving yet another spike into his already punctured conscience.  How utterly kind of him to be so thoughtful.

      “I am most certain that after Samuel returns to his home and enjoys several days of rest, he will come to better understand the merit of your suggestions.”

      “Well, I’m not sure he should go home, actually.  Idiot will likely just go about his normal day… even try to put in hours at the hospital if he can get away with it, and that’s not going to do him any good.”

      “I’m with John on this one.  I saw what he was sporting under that shirt and that’s not something to play with.  I don’t like the idea of him just sitting home alone with that festering under some bandage that he doesn’t feel like changing because the match is on.”

      “Gregory, the man is an adult and knows his own mind…”

      “Yeah, and so do I, but no one lets me have a full beer.” 

      “That is because alcohol is not advisable with your medications, my dear.”

      “Right, so you make the decision for me.  Go make the decision for the big nitwit and tell him to stay for a day or two so John can keep an eye on him.”

No, that would not be an appropriate course of action.

      “Samuel is not in as delicate a condition as you, Gregory…”

      “Stop saying that!  I am not pregnant!”

      “… I apologize.  Samuel’s health is not as impaired as is yours and having a proxy make his decisions is in no manner acceptable.  He would neither appreciate nor heed any words from me on this issue.”

      “You could try.  He likes you and would probably listen if you were serious about things.”

No… that would not be part of their discussion…

      “Gregory, let us leave this matter alone…”

      “Why?  It’s _good_ you’ve got yourself a new friend, love.  And one that keeps you on your toes… frankly, I’m glad for the break.  Can’t always keep my brain on all the way up at full speed just to rattle your cage, so how about trying to take care of this one so you can keep him around for awhile?”

Friend?  Absolutely not.  He would rather chew on razor blades while walking on a flow of fresh lava than use the term in association with Samuel Harris.

      “In this, I am afraid we shall have to disagree.  John, I assume you will take time to check on his recovery?”

      “If I want a bottle thrown at my head, sure.  If I’m very lucky, it’ll be an empty one.”

      See!  You don’t want John to be in the same shape you are, do you Mycroft?”

      “Gregory… you are being quite childish.  If Samuel chooses to return home, then that will be that.  Now, I believe you wished to spend time this morning taking a virtual tour of Madrid?  Lovely city, I shall be quite happy to share my experiences of it with you.  Just give me a moment to prepare…”

Lestrade shared a look with John, who just shrugged.  Mycroft wasn’t in their corner and there was little surprise in that, but Mycroft wasn’t the only one who might be able to convince the most stubborn person on Earth to actually make a good decision for once.  Luckily, that person was coming right back after he finished with his brand new ceramic pot…

__________

Fucking peewee John Watson.  That maneuver… was something he’d pull actually, so Sam couldn’t muster any real anger at being blindsided.  Actually he was sort of proud that John had pushed aside his usual moral self and done the deed… nice to know that he was rubbing off on his colleague.

A quick look verified that Arthur had done an admirable job with the new sutures and with that weight off his mind, Sam just lay there gathering his breath in preparation for the valiant act of standing up, which didn’t happen for some minutes.  When it came, the great standing up was actually a sloth-slow crawl upwards, with a dozen or so cut-off screeched profanities and then another few minutes of standing still to let his body finish screaming at him.  According to the clock it was… about ten hours later than he would have expected.  Ok, another point for John.  But, now he was patched up, had a good night’s…day’s… sleep and as soon as he got home, he’d indulge in a mouthful of pain killers to make the _next_ few days much more enjoyable.

The plan, such as it was, was to sneak out the door, call a cab as he walked and have it pick him up en route and take him the rest of the way home.  The plan, such as it was, fell flat three steps past his bedroom door when he spotted the sign that said “DON’T LEAVE DOCTOR SAM!” in large, glittery letters, taped to the wall.  And, to ensure his containment, there was a string spanning the hallway to which a good portion of Mycroft’s cutlery had been hung to act as alarm chimes should he dare attempt to pass.  Now, if he could only limbo underneath it, this would not pose a problem, however… Arthur was a cunning foe.

Sam dragged himself towards what sounded like friendly voices in Lestrade’s room and found the entire household watching John pitting his skills against Martin in some form of combat game, though everyone seemed to have very strident and differing opinions on the actions the participants should take.

      “Doctor Sam!  You’re awake!”

Arthur jumped up and nearly hurled himself backwards when he realized that giving the doctor a big hug wasn’t the best possible plan.  Instead, he gave his now-familiar fingertip hug and let a little dance drain away his excess of enthusiastic energy.

      “I am, and apparently, I’m caged like a hamster.  Very nice alarm system, by the way.  Effective and colorful.”

      “Thanks!  I knew it would work, even if Mr. Sherlock called it blasphemous.”

      “He doesn’t even know what that means.  Now, if you’ll kindly take it down, I’ll say my goodbyes and be on my way.”

      “Nope.  It stays in place, because _you’re_ staying in place.”

      “Arthur, we had this talk…”

      “Sam, just take a couple of days off from being yourself and make a good decision for a change.”

      “No thank you, John.  Bad decisions have gotten me this far, so why change my act?  Now, if you all will excuse me…”

      “Sam, you can’t leave me alone with only John for medical help!  He’ll go off for a shag with Sherlock and forget all about me!”  

      “You’re jealous, invalid, not dying.  Seriously guys, I have got to get my ass home and a bottle of happy pills down my throat.”

      “You can do that here!  I mean you’ve got your… bum… attached to you so wherever you are, it is, too, and you can have all the happy pills you’d like!  I mean, who wouldn’t want lot and lots of pills that make you happy and if you’re here we can all be happy together!”

      “Painkillers, Arthur… I am in a very large amount of pain and I just want my bed and some relief from this steaming heap of searing agony.”

      “Doctor Watson!  Help Doctor Sam!”

      “On my way, Arthur.  Now, don’t fight me on this, mate…”

      “Nope, thanks John, but go fuck yourself and I mean that nicely.  My pills, my house, my bed, my TV .  Notice all the ‘my’ in that sentence?”

      “And if you open yourself up again?  You’re not the brightest bulb in the shop, Sam, and you _know_ it could happen.”

      “Har de har har… What is it with you people and not letting me go home?  Really, this is getting creepy…”

      “We just want you to be safe, Doctor Sam!  You already hurt yourself once and you were _here_!  If you were home and did that, who would be there to help you?  No one.  Sorry, but you have to stay until you’re not going to hurt yourself anymore.  Skip… tell him.”

      “What Arthur said.”

      “See!”

      “Your reticence to take even the most basic care of your health is further proof that John’s choice of both friends and colleagues is deplorable.  If I am injured, I am now fearful he will conscript a veterinarian to tend my wounds.”

      “Shut it, Sherlock!  Sam, just stay another night, ok?  Just one more.  I’ll pile you with enough pain medication you won’t remember your own name and…”       

“That’s just what I’m afraid of, thank you very much.  Not going to put myself in this menagerie’s hands when I’m three sheets to the wind.  I know what _I’d_ do to someone like that and no siree bob is that going to be me!”

Arthur knew he wasn’t a full detective yet, but he was sure that it was important to notice that Mycroft was very specifically not looking at Doctor Sam and Doctor Sam was very specifically not looking at Mycroft.  Maybe it was time to do something about that…

      “Mycroft, tell Doctor Sam that he should stay.  You’re the smartest man in London, yesIknowMr.SherlockbutI’mtryingsomething, and, if anyone can, you should be able to convince him.  So… start!”

Mycroft caught the grenade and greatly wished there was someone to whom it could be passed.  Arthur… a very cunning foe… and there was just a hint of a smile on the boy’s face that said he was gleefully aware of his prowess…  The idiotic doctor should leave.  Now, in fact… _if_ no one held any concern for his welfare.  It was a simple matter to observe just how unhealthy was the man at this moment and it was for _his_ benefit entirely that the injury, now plural, had been sustained.  It would be the height of callousness to forsake him now… though it would also be the height of relief to be rid of the nuisance.

      “Samuel, do confine your bleating and wailing to matters that do not paint you as a fool.  Accept John’s offer of medicinal help, settle yourself and make use of my hospitality for the night.”

Sherlock was surprised his brother was able to even get the words out, so tightly clenched were this teeth, but if he was forced to stay here himself, there should, at least, be entertainment provided and the insufferable American’s effect on his brother was _quite_ entertaining.

      “I appreciate the offer, Mycroft.  I really do, but I’d rather be pain free in more familiar surroundings.  I don’t like what painkillers do to my head and I’m not joking when I say I don’t want to be at the mercy of you jerks.”

      “But we won’t do anything, Doctor Sam!  I mean… what if we promise not to play with your head one tiny bit?  You can have it all to yourself to play with if you want to.”

      “Arthur…”

      “Look… I’m making very sad puppy eyes…”

      “And if I was a sad puppy that might work but…”

      “Oh, is my lip quivering?

      “Ok, you’re very quivery, but…”

      “Do I have to start sniffling, Doctor Sam?  You really don’t want me to have to sniffle, do you?”

And he would, too, the little assassin.  If Mycroft didn’t hire Arthur sometime soon, a foreign government would snap him up in a heartbeat.

      “Fine.  Save your goddam sniffles for the ass-whipping you’re going to get as soon as I can wield my belt.  Now, someone get me a chair, someone get me drink, someone get me some pills, then everyone forget I’m here.”

Sherlock and Mycroft’s in-unison agreement to the latter surprised no-one, but that Sherlock rose to donate his seat did raise a few eyebrows in surprise.  Taking advantage of the moment, John raided the supplies and pressed several pills, more than the two he’d given before, into Sam’s hand and stood there until the snarling man popped them into his mouth and opened wide to let John check that he’d actually swallowed them.

      “There, now you’ll be happy.”

      “No, now I’ll be loopy.  Remember… forget I’m here.”

      “I think you’ve already gone loopy.”

      “Just remember.”

__________

The videogame resumed and continued for another hour and John had to smile at Sam… he _did_ get loopy on painkillers, though it was all sorts of wrong that the man giggled when he was amused with something.  That was not a sound John ever wanted to hear again.

      “Oh!  Look at the time!  I’ve got to start dinner!”

      “Arthur, we can just call for take-away, if you’d like.  There’s no reason for you to cook after the day you’ve had…”

      “But, Skip, we went shopping and everything.  I have to cook and we did get a little surprise, didn’t we?”

All eyes turned towards Martin who just sighed and motioned Arthur to continue on.

      “We were out and I told Charles that maybe some fish would be nice, so he took us to this very nice fish market and… they had tiny lobsters!”

      “Crayfish, love.  They weren’t actually lobsters.”

      “Yes, but they looked like them and if I said crayfish then no one might know what they looked like since I didn’t even know what they were and I know a lot about things to eat and then it wouldn’t be a big fun surprise, but saying tiny lobsters lets everyone know what they look like and what could be cuter than a teeny tiny lobster!”

_Many_ things in Mycroft’s mind and he was about to voice his opinion on the matter when Sam burst out laughing.

      “Crayfish?  Oh, Arthur… you do _not_ want to make crayfish for Mycroft!  His face turns as red as their shells after you boil them and then there’s the rash that runs up and down his legs like he pissed pustules on himself… get that man a steak and save us all the horror!”

Sam continued laughing, oblivious to the faces that were staring at him with varying levels of confusion or, in Sherlock and Mycroft’s case, pure shock.  When he finally caught onto the silence, the doctor ran the past few minutes of his memory in front of his brain again and…

      “Oops.”

Sherlock knew his brother could move quickly, so quickly that it was hard to actually see the motion, so he was the only person not surprised at the speed at which Mycroft dove out of his bed, reached beneath Lestrade’s hospital bed and extracted a very substantial handgun that he pointed straight at the American’s forehead.

      “Who are you?”

      “Calm down, Skinny… you had me investigated…” 

      “Mycroft?  Why do have a gun pointed at Doctor Sam?”

Arthur made a move towards Mycroft, but Martin dragged him back.

      “Because that bit of information is not widely distributed, Arthur.  In fact, one would have to dig very deeply to uncover that particular allergy and use channels not available to anyone purporting to be a simple physician.  Now, I will ask you again, who are you?”

      “Calm down, Mycroft… I… your medical files aren’t as buried as you might think.”

      “Lying is not a wise action at this point.  Who are you and for whom to you work?”

Sherlock placed a hand on John’s arm to steady his partner who looked near to collapse.

      “You had me checked out, Mycroft.  Are you telling me you think your people missed something as big as me not being who I say I am?”

Mycroft kept his stance and was very glad that his Detective Inspector was behind him so that there was no possibility that he would even be dirtied by this individual’s blood when he pulled the trigger.

      “I am not so foolish as to believe that a particularly well-crafted and long-term cover might not pass even my level of scrutiny.  That is why I always take proper precautions.”

      “Like taping a fucking canon underneath your boyfriend’s bed?”

      “It appears to have been a prudent move, wouldn’t you agree?”

      “Look… just let me get up and leave and I promise, you won’t see me ever again.”

      “I would laugh if it would not impair my aim.  I will ask one final time and you will answer or you will not leave this room alive.  And, if you harbor some doubts, I do not make idle threats.”

Arthur’s whimper was the only sound in the room as the two men stared each other down for what seemed like an eternity.

      “Why wouldn’t you just let me leave?  No… I can’t blame you… I should never have been here in the first place.”

      “This _is_ your last chance.  Do not make me take action.”

Sam leaned back and even Mycroft was stunned by the extreme sadness that rose up in the man’s eyes.

      “This will be easier if you hand off your gun to John and…”

      “Ridiculous.  And you are wasting what few seconds you have remaining.”

      “Fine… can we at least do this in private?”

      “Are you truly bereft of your senses?”

      “No, just trying to… ok.  Ok… yeah.  Just remember, please… I asked you to just leave me alone.”

Sam took a very deep breath and looked over at Arthur.

      “Kid, since he’ll shoot me if I move, I need you to go over to Mycroft and push his gun-hand sleeve back up to, say, his elbow.  I think he’s stable enough not to shoot you, but do _not_ stand in front of his gun no matter what.”

Arthur looked at Martin who shook his head ‘no,’ and to Mycroft who also shook his head ‘no,’ and walked over to the elder Holmes anyway to start pushing up Mycroft’s sleeve.

      “Ok… I did it.”

      “Good job.   I can always count on you.  Now, tell me what you see.”

      “Ummm… an arm?”

      “There’s that medical training!  But look more closely, right there on the fleshy part of his arm.”

Arthur peered in and saw a tiny, white scar.

      “There’s a little scar here.”

      “Great, now gently so you don’t spook Skinny, turn his arm a little and tell me what you see.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed as Arthur turned his arm and announced the presence of a second tiny scar.

      “If this is to impress your audience, I am ashamed of your efforts.  If you could determine my allergy, I am quite sure you know every mark on my person.”

      “Yeah, that’s fair.  But… here’s a story for you, Arthur.  When Sherlock was a baby, if you can actually imagine that big, surly ball of darkness as a baby, his teeth came in funny.  For the longest time he had one tooth on top and one tooth almost directly below it on the bottom…”

      “Yes, yes… any early photograph of Sherlock would document his dentition.  What organization or individual sent you and for what purpose?”

      “Ignore him, Arthur… now, one day his brother, who loved him very, very much… so much that he did everything he could to take care of him even though he was only a little shaver himself, decided that his brother needed changing.”

Sherlock did not like that the doctor, or whoever he was, stared at him during that particular part of his speech.

      “Well, the diapers were on a table next to the head of the crib and Sherlock’s brother, that would be Mycroft, by the way, reached over to get one and, wouldn’t you know it?  That two-toothed baby opened his mouth as wide as he could and bit down on the chubby little arm that was right over his mouth.  Bit down hard enough that he broke right through the skin and got his teeth sunk into the flesh.  Needless to say, Mycroft began to panic since he was hurting like a son of a bitch and he had a baby attached to his arm.  He tried to pry his arm away, but Sherlock had him in a good grip and Mycroft was afraid he’d hurt Sherlock if he tried to pull on his jaws to get him to let go.  So…”

Sam’s gaze focused on Mycroft who was staring back with a confusion that had him beginning to worry… only a few servants knew that particular story…

      “You’re trying to remember how many people know that story aren’t you, Mycroft?  Who might have been gotten to at some point to share family secrets?  But they only knew about it after they fact, didn’t they?  Well, let’s see if we can narrow your suspect pool down a bit.  As I was saying, Arthur, my boy… Mycroft was in a pickle and was scared to be found out and get into trouble so… so he took the back road.  Nice, clichéd hidden passageway in the children’s wing of the house and ran to the one person who wouldn’t tell on him.  Wouldn’t say anything about him having a baby hanging off his arm with blood all over its face like he was a freaking vampire.  Who’d take care of things, because that was his job…”

All eyes moved from Sam to Mycroft and it was a good thing because it gave John time to grab the gun that began to drop from Mycroft’s shaking hand.  The elder Holmes had gone deathly pale and it was a lucky thing that Lestrade’s bed was right there because when Mycroft’s knees gave out, it was a quick thing for John to push him back so he landed in a sitting position on the bed.

      “No…”

      “I’m sorry, Mycroft.”

      “It cannot be…”

      “I am truly, truly sorry.”

      “Sherrinford?”

      “Hi, little brother.  It’s good to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sort of thinking this wasn't a huge surprise as the clues have been dropping since Chapter 1, but maybe I'm wrong...


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my continued thanks for your patience and encouragement for this story!

There was total silence in the room as each person tried to process what had just happened.  The only sound that eventually broke through was Mycroft’s heavy and labored breathing and it was enough to get John into motion to check on him, because he was now genuinely concerned about the elder Holmes’s welfare.  There was no color in the man’s face and the tremors that were shaking his body were more than a little worrying, especially since Mycroft’s eyes weren’t seeming to focus on anything actually present in the room and the only thing keeping him from falling onto the floor was the strong grip Lestrade had mustered on his partner’s shirt.  A quick look at his own partner was in no way comforting.  Sherlock appeared frozen in time, staring at the man in the chair.  Not blinking, not moving, not even, if John’s eyes could be believed, breathing…

      “I really don’t think I understand.”

Thank you, Arthur, for popping the horrible bubble of silence.

      “It’s like this, kid.  That one there who looks like he’s going to pass out and that one there who turned into a statue… let’s just say they come by their good looks and charm honestly.”

      “That… that really didn’t help.”

      “You… it cannot be you!  You’re…”

      “Don’t say dead, Skinny.  Now, the old bitch probably had me declared legally dead as soon as she could, but there is not one scrap, not one tiny scrap of information that I actually died.  And you know that, because I’m sure you’ve looked.  Hard and often.  And in a nod to the seriousness of the situation, I won’t make that last piece into a joke.  It’s me, Mycie.  And I’ll take any test you want to prove it, but I don’t think I need to.  Put the clues together… you know it’s me.”

Lestrade let go of Mycroft’s shirt and ran his hand up and down his partner’s back.  He… really had no idea what to think right now.  Mycroft had another brother?  One he never mentioned?  But then… Sherlock never had either.  And that brother wasn’t even someone they recognized?  There was something very, very strange happening here…

      “Mycroft?  Love, I’m in Arthur’s camp for this one.  What’s going on?”

Mycroft didn’t answer and Lestrade shot very worried eyes at John who had no idea what to do.  He was having a hard enough time keeping his own mind together… Sam was Sherlock’s brother?  That had to be wrong… Sherlock would have said something.  Sam would have said something!  Sam… oh, sorry… Sherrinford Fucking Holmes… he’d been lied to from the very beginning… shouldn’t be surprised.  Lying is what the Holmes family did best.

Martin was close to hyperventilating, Arthur looked about ready to cry, Sherlock had switched off, John was about ready to explode, Mycroft was… melting down.  The only one not becoming completely unglued was Sam, but Lestrade wasn’t sure he’d be able to pick up anything from the man’s face.  A Holmes… of course he wouldn’t be able to read his face unless the man wanted him to.  Time to use some of his crowd control skills…

      “Ok, John, why don’t you take Sherlock for a little walk or something and see if you can bring him back from purgatory.  Arthur, you take Sam for a little sit anywhere but here and bring Martin with you so he can try to start breathing properly again.  I’m going to see what I can do with mine and if we get very, very lucky we can try and have a bit of together time later when we’ve figured out what the fuck is going on.  Sound good?”

The nice thing about lying in a bed is that if you just lay flat and let your head look in the direction it’s naturally pointing, you can’t see anyone’s reaction to your nonsense.

      “Oh… Right!  Perhaps everyone could use a bit of a think and, well, Mycroft… ooh, he doesn’t look so well.  Come on, Skip.  Let’s help Doctor Sam, even though he’s not actually Doctor Sam but I’m going to call him that anyway because then I’d have to change Sammy Bear’s name and I’d rather not do that because I’m sure he’s gotten used to it and it wouldn’t be fair to make it something different now.  Let’s go, Doctor Sam.  We can go and sit in Mycroft’s nice study and have a little chat and you can help me understand things and… oh my… SKIP!  YOU NEVER TOLD ME DOCTOR SAM WAS YOUR COUSIN!”

Martin snapped out of his wheezing and began to stammer out something that could be charitably called words before Sherlock had his own moment of awakening and pushed his cousin forward to jumpstart Martin’s coherence circuits.

      “I… well, I didn’t _know_ he was my cousin.  Actually… I didn’t really know I had another cousin.  Not for sure, at least.  I thought he… I thought you were a myth, actually, Sa… Sherrinford.”

      “Oh, good to know my name got chiseled off the family mausoleum.”

      “You… you can’t be here…”

All eyes studiously stayed off of Mycroft, who was looking progressively worse and John, though he hated the idea of leaving the man alone with only Lestrade for health support, grabbed his own Holmes and pulled him out of the room.

      “Arthur, Martin, come help the great mythical Bigfoot, and you know what they say about men with big feet, out of this chair so Mycroft can have a moment.  Greg… take care of him and… you and I can have our own chat later.  Right now, though, just take care of him.”

Arthur sprang forward to give Sam his arm, with Martin hesitantly assisting, looking very much as if he was terrified of being sucked into some form of phantasmic black hole.  With Sam finally on his feet, it was only a few slow steps to the door and then Mycroft and Lestrade were left alone.

      “Come here, love and lay down.  Told you this bed wasn’t as narrow as you thought.  That’s right, just lay back and… good, you lay right there…”

The depths of Mycroft’s distress were clear as the Holmes didn’t hesitate laying down in the bed and resting his head on the very edge of Lestrade’s shoulder.

      “Think you can talk about it?  This is… I can’t even believe what this is, Mycroft.  Was he telling the truth?  I mean… the way you’re acting I guess he must be but… you have another brother?  How?  No, that’s stupid, don’t answer that.  Why didn’t you tell me, though?  Or Sherlock!  Never said one word… and he rambled on like a madman sometimes when he was high.  You’ve got a brother and he’s here and oh god I’m babbling so step in and stop me so I don’t look the complete fool…”

Lestrade felt Mycroft’s hand reach out and lay itself on his stomach, resting still a moment before starting to trace out a circle over and over with his palm as if the repetitive motion was a soothing ritual.

      “It is he.  No one… not one person knows of that story besides Sherrinford and myself.  Sherlock does not even know because… telling it would open wounds that should remain sealed.  Not that it is possible anymore to do so.”

      “Could… could the real Sherrinford have told someone and…”

      “His mind is Sherry’s.  The… horrific wit… I should have recognized it!  Even with the heavy layering of excessive inanity, his mind is there…  the drinking… he stammers, _stammered_ , when he was stressed.  It waned with age, but… I have not known him since I was ten years old!  He was there and then he was not…”

Lestrade wished more than anything that he could embrace his lover, but the best he could do was put his hand over Mycroft’s and let it ride along as it continued to move across his stomach.

      “What happened?  Why’d he go?  A fight with your parents or…”

      “I don’t know!  I never knew!  I went to sleep and when I awoke… it was a small thing between him and me, but every morning, even if I had enraged him the previous day, he would do something to my breakfast.  If he were angered, he would commit some offense such as hiding the cutlery or putting a layer of whipped cream on the meat or eggs… if he were not, I might find a small note beside my plate or a bit of chocolate beneath the edge of my plate.  Sherry… was always awake earlier than was I and we rarely shared breakfast together.   This was his way of telling me good morning and one day there was nothing.  I looked and looked for something and there was naught.  I went to his rooms and… if you did not know his possessions you might never realize anything was amiss.  But _I_ knew.  A few, very few but very precious items were missing as was a small amount of clothing.  He was gone, Gregory.  Without a word, without an explanation… without my having an inkling of any area of trouble, he was gone.  Without a goodbye, Gregory, a single word to me… he simply left.”

Lestrade lay there and tried to imagine what it would be like for a very young Mycroft to find his brother missing in such a cold and impersonal way.  But, it didn’t fit with the doctor he knew!  Or thought he knew… it just didn’t match the friendly, open person who took a _huge_ interest in Mycroft since they’d reunited… how could he have done something so terrible to a little boy who clearly had loved his big brother?

      “Nothing, Gregory.  Not any sign in all these years.  Mummy and Father… I do not fully know what they did to locate him but it was never spoken of.  _He_ was never spoken of.  Not again, never once.  Sherlock… he was but three at the time and carries very little memory of Sherrinford.  I believe that he, like Martin, believed him a story… a legend.  Anything but a real person who played with him and helped me make the mobile that hung above Sherlock’s crib.  I would doubt that Sherlock has given a single thought to his brother in years, if not decades.”

Gone.  Just up and went and it was like he never existed.  In a horribly sad way, Lestrade could see it happening.  Wealthy, influential family whose kid ups and runs off… and Mycroft said the drinking made sense, so he must have been a problem before he flew… just sweep him under the rug and hope everyone forgets about him.  It was clear that one person hadn’t though…

      “You tried to find him, didn’t you?  I can’t imagine that when you could you didn’t try; that wouldn’t be like you at all.”

Mycroft repositioned slightly and Lestrade breathed through the stab of pain in his chest.  He wasn’t going to do anything to disturb Mycroft at his very, very vulnerable moment.

      “Many times.  I utilized every resource in my arsenal and found nothing.  Not any piece of evidence for where he had gone or what had been his fate.  Samu… Sherrinford is quite correct in that there is no documentation of his death in any records repository on this planet.  His vanishing… his new identity… was _flawless_ and I do not make that statement lightly.  He confounded me!  Completely!  He led a successful life, gained regard and… oh dearest lord…”

This time it was harder to hold back the yelp as Mycroft hurled himself backwards and landed flat on his back, giving the bed a sharp lurch.

      “He had a child, Gregory.  He had a son…”

Mycroft’s hands covered his face and Lestrade did his best to offer comfort with the arm that was closest to his partner, but, in truth, he had no confidence it would be of any value.

      “He had a son, Gregory… a little boy who… he was clever and curious… artistic!  The child was _artistic_ and I never knew him… I never had the chance to know him…”

A little Holmes.  A tiny little Holmes that Mycroft could have watched grow up… as formal and distant as Mycroft could be, if you broke through that, as Arthur had done, he was the most doting, caring man you could imagine.  Lestrade knew, without doubt, that his nephew would have owned Mycroft’s heart and been the most pampered, adored little boy in the world.  At least until… well, maybe if things were different he would still be here.

      “Mycroft…”

      “I cannot, Gregory.  I need… I cannot speak on this anymore.  Not for the moment, at least.  May we… would you be distressed if we were simply to lay here for awhile?  I shall do my best not to disturb you.”

      “Come here, then.”

Lestrade patted the shoulder on which Mycroft’s head had been resting and braced himself against the pain of his lover shifting back into a position that allowed him to curl slightly around his injured partner.

      “You just lie there and think or sleep or do whatever you want to do.  We’ve got plenty of time to talk later.”

      “Thank you, Gregory.  I… I am not attempting to withhold information from you, nor did I in my failure to discuss Sherrinford with you previously.  It is simply… I…”

      “Just rest, Mycroft.  I understand.  Well, some of it.  The rest… like I said, we’ve got plenty of time.”

__________

John dragged Sherlock into the bedroom they had been using and closed the door behind them.  Then, after a moment’s thought, locked it, more as an obstacle to his own storming out than anyone storming in.  Sherlock simply stood where John had left him and the doctor had to continue to shove the detective so that he sat down on the bed, though John continued to stand.

      “You have a brother.”

      “You have met him on many occasions, most often to your detriment because of his meddling.”

      “Shut it!  And you know I don’t mean Mycroft.  You have another brother and you never mentioned him.  I would have remembered something like that so don’t try and convince me I just forgot.”

John felt the fury he’d been holding back starting to break through his mental walls and tried to mortar in a few bricks to repair the cracks.  Getting mad was not going to help anything right now.

      “I do not… I have no response to make.”

      “No response?  Sherlock… you’ve got two brothers and you’ve only ever mentioned one.  And… you’ve been spending a lot of time around the one you’ve never mentioned and… never mentioned him!”

      “I did not know that your American friend was Sherrinford.”

      “I find that hard to believe.  I’m sorry, but I do.  He’s your brother after all!”

      “He has not been anything since I was three years old.  I do not know him, John.  I have only the vaguest of memories of him and… I have never been entirely convinced they were real.  The memories, perhaps, but not the specific identity of the person in them.”

      “You’re telling me you never actually believed you had an older brother?  Another old brother, I mean.”

      “It is difficult to believe in someone who exists only as a few fragmented memories from your earliest years.  You must understand, John… he did not exist as far as my family was concerned.  I never heard his name mentioned beyond… I remember once hearing Mycroft ask about him to Father.”

      “And?”

      “Father changed the subject.  Mycroft did not ask again, at least not that I observed.  Make of that what you will.”

John had a hundred questions he wanted to ask, but the flatness, the lifelessness of Sherlock’s voice set them aside.  He’d ask his questions of the person who could actually give him answers.  And if he had to beat them out of him, that would just be a little side benefit.  John took a seat next to Sherlock and rubbed his partner’s leg.

      “Ok… ok.  I believe you, which means… how do you feel about all of this?”

      “I feel nothing about this.”

      “That’s not true.  That is not true at all and you can’t lie to me on this one, Sherlock.  I need to know how this is affecting you.  There he is and he knows who you are.  _Has_ known who you are and never tried to get in touch.  Spent time with you and never said anything.  You have to feel something and I know you do.”

John watched Sherlock sit quietly and the continued silence and blankness of expression was beginning to unnerve him.  Little of consequence happened to Sherlock that he did not expect.  Did not predict.  This had taken him completely off guard, which would upset the detective greatly, but it was more than that.  John couldn’t explain why, but he knew deep in his heart that far more was causing Sherlock’s very calm turmoil.

      “Again, I do not know what you desire me to say.”

      “Whatever you want to say.  Whatever you feel.”

      “I don’t… I feel nothing.  I have stated that previously.”

      “Sherlock…”

      “I feel nothing, John.  I feel no anger, no surprise, no sorrow… I feel nothing.”

John scrutinized Sherlock as closely as he could and saw none of the tiny signs he was learning meant Sherlock wasn’t telling the full truth.  But he understood… his doctor side did, at least.  Feeling nothing, being completely empty, was a form of shock and it would simply take time for Sherlock to recover.  Time, support and, when he was ready, a chance to talk.  But not until he was ready and until Sherlock was very ready, John didn’t want him within a continent of Sam.  Sam… Sherrinford… whoever the hell he was…. 

      “It’s alright… I’m not trying to tell you you’re doing anything wrong.  What you feel is what you feel, even if it’s not anything.  But, we’ll talk about it, yeah?  Not right now, if you don’t want to, but whenever you feel ready, I’ll listen.”

      “I don’t know what there will be to say.”

      “Doesn’t matter, I’ll be here.  Except for now because I think I want to talk to someone else and that particular someone’s not here.”

      “You wish to talk to Sherrinford.”

      “You’re right I do.  I want to know just what the hell is going on and he’s the best person to tell me.   You can just stay here and relax.  Maybe see if you can start making sense of all this.”

Sherlock’s slight, distracted nod was the only response John got, but he gave his partner a kiss on his temple before he got up to leave.”

      “I’ll see if Arthur and Martin want to come and sit with you while you think.”

Not even a distracted nod this time because Sherlock’s mind had turned inward again.  Whether he was in his Mind Palace or simply switching off for awhile, he was officially unavailable anymore.  John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s curls a few times then left the room, taking one final long look at the man he loved.  Sherlock may not be feeling anything, but that certainly did not describe _him_ and he had very clear plans to do something about it.

__________

Arthur did most of the supporting getting Sam to the study, with Martin’s contribution being mostly getting doors opened and closed.  Arthur worked to get Sam situated on the sofa then dragged a chair close to the man and jumped into it, folding his legs under himself so he looked like a kid eagerly awaiting a story from their dad.

      “Ok, I’m ready.”

      “Good job.  For what?”

      “Well, for what you want to say.  I’m sure you want to say something about… well about everything!  You’re my cousin!  Well, actually you’re Skip’s cousin, but since we’re engaged that makes you almost my cousin.  And, now that I think about it, Mycroft said I was an honorary Holmes, so that makes you even more cousinyish.  Why didn’t you tell me you were my cousin, Doctor Sam?”

Martin had settled into his own chair but kept it in its original location, away from the man he was staring at as if he was convinced Sam would blink out of existence if he looked away for even a moment.

      “It’s complicated, kid.”

      “No… I really don’t think it is.  You’re my honorary cousin and didn’t tell me.  And you can’t say you didn’t see me because, well… you had to have seen me a lot!  That’s rather a big fib and, actually, you told a lot of fibs since we brought Greg to the hospital, which isn’t nice at all, but I suppose you had reasons for your fib because you don’t strike me as a person who fibs for fun.  Were you worried I wouldn’t believe who you were because I would have.  You always explain things so well that I’d have to believe you were my cousin!  Really, this is all very strange, Doctor Sam, and I’d very much like for it not to be strange anymore.”

Sam smiled a tired smile and thanked heaven, yet again, that Martin had Arthur in his life.

      “Arthur, things are always strange around me so I think you’re not going to get your wish.”

      “Oh, well yes… I do have to admit that’s true, but…”

      “Why did you leave?”

Arthur and Sam looked over at Martin who was still staring, but there was a twist to his face that Arthur had never seen before.

      “Martin… I promise we can talk about that at some point, but not until I’ve spent some time with Mycroft.   He deserves the story first and… there are things that only he should know.  I’ll say this, if it helps, it wasn’t anyone’s fault.  Well, not anyone here.  It’s all on me, Martin.  If you want a villain to this friggin’ fairytale, you can give me the hat to wear.”

      “Oh!  I have the perfect one!  It’s…”

      “Is it here?”

      “Ummm… well, no.  No, it isn’t.”

      “Then I’m sorry, Arthur, but it’s not going to be much use to us.  Now, if I ever visit Fitton…”

      “Brilliant!  Then you plan on staying with us and being Mycroft and Mr. Sherlock’s brother and Skip and my cousin and Doctor Watson’s… well, you’ll be something with him, I just have to figure out that that is and Greg… hmmm, I’ll have to think about him, too.  But now that we know who you are, we can be an even bigger family and… this is just the most brilliant thing ever!  Skip!  I do believe we should have some of Mycroft’s nice sherry to celebrate.  They have champagne when babies are born and they launch ships, which is like ships begin born, so we should have something to celebrate Doctor Sam being born.  Of course he’s already been born as a little baby, but now he’s been born into our family, which he was already really a part of though no one knew that so that’s why I thought sherry instead of champagne to celebrate.  Plus I don’t like champagne very much.  I get distracted by the bubbles and never actually get to drink any.”

      “Now, don’t be getting ahead of yourself, kid.  There’s more than an extremely huge chance that Mycroft is going to toss me out on my ass and have about a hundred armed guards make sure that the ass I was tossed out on never gets to see the light of day again.  I just hope the ladies of London will declare a day of mourning in my memory.”

      “But why?  No, I actually think I know why.  Poor Mycroft!  He looked terrible!  Poor, poor Mycroft… he’s had to live all these years without his brother.  Well, he’s got Mr. Sherlock, who really isn’t very brothery when it comes to Mycroft, but he hasn’t had you!  And you’re a lot of fun so he’s probably thinking about all the fun you could have had that he didn’t have and… oh that’s a terrible thing.  A terrible, terrible thing…  Can I… can I ask how long this terrible, terrible thing has been going on because he didn’t even know you so it has to be a very terribly long time and that’s just so sad…”

Sam leaned forward and rubbed his eyes to clear out the cobwebs that seemed to creeping back into his brain despite a sleep that lasted longer than nearly three of his normal nights…

      “I haven’t seen Mycroft since he was ten years old.  I was sixteen and he was ten.  Sherlock and Martin there were about three.  Tiny miseries… even then they were a force to be reckoned with.  Toddling around getting into trouble.  Sherlock would grab Martin’s hand and off they’d go to make life hell for someone. You couldn’t pry the two apart and I swear if it wasn’t for Martin’s hair, you couldn’t _tell_ the two apart, either.”

Sam smiled at Martin who looked as if he’d been spooked by a mouse.

      “Sherlock… played with me?”

      “Whenever he could.  You two were always finding something to get into.  Or you’d just hide under a bed with a few toys and throw them at anyone who was stupid enough to peek under the bedskirt to see if you were ok.  You two would do everything together and then bawl your eyes out when it was time for you to go home. Little BFF’s…”

      “Skip!  You and Mr. Sherlock were so cute!  I can just picture you in your nappies, with chubby little baby feet and holding hands and playing with your toys.  Doctor Sam!  Are there any pictures of Skip and Mr. Sherlock being chubby babies together?”

      “Well, they weren’t necessarily chubby, but… I bet if you ask Mycroft, he’s got some somewhere.  Probably hasn’t looked at them in years, but I know they exist.  Or they did at one point.”

      “Yes!  Skip, remind me to ask Mycroft for pictures.  Skip?  Are you ok?  You look a bit odd.”

Martin sat there and tried as hard as he could to bring up any memories of those times, but found none.  Not one memory of times when… when Sherlock didn’t treat him so cruelly.  Maybe if he’d had those memories to hold onto, the rest of it wouldn’t have been so bad.  Or maybe it would have been worse… but at least he would have something other than a mind full of fear and pain…

      “I’m fine, love.  I’m sure Mycroft would love to dredge up those old photos for you.”

      “Happy times didn’t last very long, did they Martin?”

The pilot cut his eyes towards Sam, whose own eyes were filled with nothing but sympathy.

      “No.  They didn’t.”

      “Mr. Sherlock may have been a bit mean to Skip when they were small.”

      “How _bit_ is bit?”

      “Well… rather a lot, actually.”

      “And he probably had no idea he was doing anything evil.”

That grabbed Martin’s attention and he pulled his chair a little closer to the sofa.

      “Why would you say that?”

Sam chuckled and waved Arthur over to the glittering bottles of spirits to pour out the sherry they’d never gotten.

      “Because Mycroft had problems in that area, too.  He would do or say something absolutely shitty and be clueless that he’d done anything wrong.  I… you have no idea how long it took me to get him to see that the world didn’t end at the tip of his nose and he had to pay attention to how his actions affected other people.  He didn’t mean to hurt anyone and once he caught onto the right end of the stick, things went pretty well.  He had a better grasp of personal relations, though, than Sherlock seems to have, so I bet Bony was far more of a little monster than Skinny.  How are you with that?  There’s still a lot of tension between you two, that much is obvious, so tell me… how are you, Martin?

Martin had no idea how this conversation got turned in his direction instead of where it should be pointing, but something about Sam reeked of honest concern, which was a laugh since the man apparently was as happy to kick honesty in the bollocks as Mycroft and Sherlock.

      “We’ve… we’ve cleared the air.  Starting to mend things and… I think it’s going well.  Sort of well, at least.  There are bad days… on my part, at least, but Arthur helps.  Arthur’s been the glue holding everything together.”

      “And that glue’s full of glitter isn’t it?”

This was a very serious conversation and it was not the right time to grin, but Martin couldn’t stop one spreading over his face as he looked over at his fiancé who was readying their drinks and smiling back at him.

      “Lots of that rainbow-colored glitter that everyone adores.”

      “As well they should!  Fucking colored glitter should be all over the place.  Just look at my Do Not Pass sign he made.  Damn thing nearly snapped the tape it was so heavy with glitter.  It was magnificent.”

Arthur’s smile grew under the praise and set down a glass of sherry near each man motioning Martin to move forward so he could be a part of the little klatch Arthur had going with Sam.

      “I was quite proud of that one, actually.  Oh, and I’ll show you the ones I made for the bedrooms at Mum’s house for our party.  I really put a lot of time into those.”

      “Good job.  I admire your motivation, Arthur.”

      “Thanks!  And if you come to party at Mum’s, I’ll make a sign for you, too, though I’m not sure where you’ll sleep since we’ll run out of bedrooms, but we’ll sort that out later.”

      “Arthur, now I told you not to start making plans for anything.  And… you might want to prepare yourself for saying goodbye.”

Arthur cut eyes at Martin who had nothing to offer.

      “Why would I do that?”

      “Because there’s a good chance I’ll be heading home soon.  And by home, I don’t mean my apartment, I mean the home I have to take a flight and a cab to reach.”     

      “NO!  You can’t go back to America!  No… I’m going to do what Mr. Sherlock does and erase that from my brain.  Whoop – there it goes.  Nothing there anymore and I erased a few other bits around it just to make sure I got everything.  So, back to my next party, which will be brilliant, if I do say so myself.  I think I’m going to have two cakes for this one.  I’m going to ask Mycroft where he got the cake for our engagement announcement party because that one was especially tasty and there was that MASSIVE sugary sun on the top.  And it lasted a very long time, too.  I probably shouldn’t have taken it out too look at when Snoopadoop was around though.  She got a bit excited and… Mum wasn’t happy we had to take her to the veterinarian to get all the sugar out of her teeth so she could open up her mouth again.”

Sam had no firm idea how things would play out but if there was any chance he could keep in touch with Arthur and Martin, he was going to do it.

      “I’m sure it’ll be a kickass party and if I can go, I promise you I will.  Now…”

John had done his best not to slam open the study door and was a bit embarrassed that he failed and caused Arthur to shriek and Martin to spill whatever they were drinking all over his shirt.  The only one who was unphased was the American… who wasn’t actually American.  His face was a combination of annoyance and resignation as he took a sip of his drink.

      “Well, look what the cat dragged in.  Want to join the party, John?  It’s not the bash Arthur’s going to throw down the road, but who doesn’t love these intimate gatherings?  Just add the right wink and it’s an instant orgy.  Or toga party.  It’s been awhile and I really don’t remember the last one very clearly…”

John wanted to punch the grin right into the back of Sam’s brain but settled instead for rocking a moment on his heels before clearing his throat and addressing the other two men in the room.

      “Sorry about that… do you think you could give Sam and me a moment?  I think there’s a few things we need to talk about.”

Arthur looked at Martin and then at Sam, who gave him a grin and a little nod.  It was only then that Arthur really noticed the small crinkling of the skin just above the doctor’s nose, which was identical to both Mycroft and Sherlock.  He must need more practice with his detective skills because he had missed it completely.

      “Well, I suppose we can do that.  Skip needs a new shirt anyway.”

      “Thanks.  And Sherlock could use a visit if you’re feeling charitable.  I think a friendly ear is exactly what he needs right now.”

      “Brilliant!  I’ve got a very friendly ear!  Come on, Skip, let’s get you dressed and then we’ll go and visit Mr. Sherlock.  Don’t be too long, though, Doctor Watson.  I think Doctor Sam’s idea for a toga party is amazing and all we need are some sheets, which Mycroft has lots of.  And I can even arrange one on top of Greg so it looks like he has his own toga and be part of the party.  We’ll look for sheets and let you know what we find.”

Arthur pulled Martin out of his chair and raced out the door to raid Mycroft’s linen closets, leaving John to take the abandoned seat and slam down the sherry Arthur had left behind in his glass.

      “Ok, you want to tell me what all this is about, _Sherrinford_?”

      “Ugh… can you just not?  Sam works.  If you have to be an asshole, you can use Sherry, but you _will_ be Johnny from then so choose wisely.”

      “Do not fucking try and be cute with me.”

      “I don’t have to try to be cute, as you well know.  I was born that way.  Family trait, though it sort of got watered down the farther you go down the tree.”

      “You just can’t stop, can you?  Could you try, just for once, not to be a complete bastard and tell me what is going on?”

Sam dragged himself off the sofa and obtained a fresh bottle of something from Mycroft’s liquor supply, making a great show of offering none of it to John.

      “You want to know why I took a powder, then you’re going to have to wait.  Just like I told the other two, Mycroft and I have to talk first and then I can open up to everyone else.  He deserves the story first.”

      “Why?”

      “He’s my little brother, John.  I owe it to him.”

      “Sherlock is your little brother, too!  And he’s sitting in the bedroom right now completely turned off from the world!  What about him?  How about you go in there and tell him why you abandoned him!  Why does Mycroft have to be first on your list?”

      “Because Sherlock probably doesn’t even remember me!  He doesn’t remember the times I walked with him all night because he was teething.  He doesn’t remember holding my hand while he was learning to walk.  He doesn’t remember pulling out everything in my dresser drawers over and over again because he found it funny for who the fuck knows what reason.  He has zero memory of me feeding him or bathing him or doing any of the other things that I did with him.  But Mycroft does.  Sherlock remembers nothing about our relationship but Mycie does.  I love both my brothers, John, and do not for one minute think that a day goes by I don’t think of them, but I know Mycroft and he knows me.  He comes first in this.  There are things he and I have to talk about and all of that is going to come before any sharing with the rest of you.”

John snarled at his friend, if that was even the right word anymore, but knew he wouldn’t get Sam to budge on this.  However, he was by no means finished with the oldest Holmes.

      “Ok… I can understand that.  How about this then, since it doesn’t affect Mycroft at all.  What in the hell gave you the right to lie to me?  To… was it funny?  Playing with me like a little toy?  Having a laugh behind my back?  You knew exactly who I was and who Sherlock was to me… heard me cry and scream about him often enough.  You knew I loved him and you just dangled me on your string.  So, who came down from heaven and said ‘Oh Sam, please do whatever you can to make John Watson look the fool, thank you very much?’  Hmmm… got an answer for that?”

John watched a full quarter of the bottle Sam was holding disappear down the man’s throat and grabbed it away when he was done.

      “You’re not going to drink yourself senseless until I’ve gotten some answers.”

      “Bitch.  Are you telling me Sherlock couldn’t piece it together?”

      “He’s nearly catatonic!  He’s in shock and barely interacting with the world around him right now so don’t you dare try and smear his abilities.”

At the very least, John did have to admit that Sam’s eyes held no light, despite the tone of his words.  He was trying to be flippant, but it was a cover for deeper emotions that the other doctor was not ready to let emerge from their dim, dank cave.

      “I’m not trying to, I just thought… I never laughed at you, John.  I never thought it was a game or that I was trying to make you look foolish.  Believe me, that was absolutely the last thing on my mind.  I wouldn’t have…”

John was proud that he’d learned enough from Sherlock to catch the shift in Sam’s features and realize it was something he needed to push.

      “Wouldn’t have what?  This is you and me, it’s got nothing to do with Mycroft or anyone else.  You owe me this, Sam.  I’ve known you for years now and…”

      “Since when?”

      “What?”

      “For how long have I known you?”

John remembered why he should never try and push _anything_.  Pushing was one matter, pursuing was quite another and he was trying to catch the tail of a Holmes.  Who stole back the liquor bottle while John was thinking.

      “Since… it wasn’t long after Sherlock jumped.  I’d just started to try and work again and…”

Maybe it was the sadness in Sam’s smile.  Maybe it was the way his eyes looked even darker.  Whatever it was, a very ugly idea sprung up in John’s head.

      “You came to London not long before I met you.  You came here right after Sherlock jumped and you met me as soon as I started working… don’t… don’t you tell me…”

      “That I came to London for you?  Well, I am because it’s true.  I wasn’t in some grass hut on an island, John. I do get the papers and have access to the internet and amazing things like that.  I knew what happened and I knew… I knew about you and I’m not an idiot.  It was easy to put two and two together.  Actually two and two and two because… Sherlock may have fooled certain people but not everyone.  Stupid little prick… if he thought his scheme wasn’t a big dumb bag of shit, he should have his head examined.  He wasn’t rotting in that coffin of his _and_ he wasn’t going to be able to stay away from you forever.  You couldn’t see it, John, but he might as well have been carrying around a fucking huge neon sign that said ‘I LOVE JOHN WATSON.’  He didn’t see it either, of course, so don’t feel too bad you missed it totally, but… I had to come.  I couldn’t let his big moronic plan destroy you and him both.  I just couldn’t let it happen.  I do love him, John and I had to do something to keep him from completely ruining his life.”

      “You just didn’t think you’d get caught.”

      “Got it in one.  Once Sherlock was back, I thought I’d just go back to the States but… but there really wasn’t anything for me there and I’d gotten used to being able to… well, spy would be the best word.  Take a stroll and catch a glimpse of Mycroft or Sherlock.  It was addictive and you of all people know the size of my addictive personality.  And don’t think it was only them… I do consider myself your friend, John.”

      “How can you be my friend when I don’t even know you?”

      “Because you do.  Really, the only thing different between yesterday and today is my name.  Everything you know about me hasn’t changed.  What I’ve told you I’ve done, I’ve done.  The person you talk to… that’s the real me.  Honestly, Johnny-boy, I am what you think I am.  Only the name’s different.”

      “And the fact that you’re a fucking Holmes!”

      “Which means what?  That I’m a better doctor because of it?  That I don’t let you get away with a big fat lie?  All the things I’ve always done?  And, actually, it could be a lot worse, but I’ve learned to hold back with my Holmes need to show off certain parts of myself, unlike certain people who shall remain nameless because you’re fucking him silly at night.  I lied to you about my name, John, but not about anything else.  Nothing that mattered.  Go talk to anyone I’ve known and they’ll describe the person sitting right here.  And I think the person sitting right here has been a pretty fucking good friend to you, actually.  Yeah, maybe it started off a little fake, but that didn’t last long.  I consider you a real friend, John, and I’ll be honest and say that I don’t want that to change.  Though I may not have the final say in the matter.”

      “No, I think that would be me.  And I don’t know.  You, Sherlock, Mycroft… you lie as easily as breathing.”

      “Yeah, we do.  And convincingly, too.  But you’re learning how to spot the lies, aren’t you?  My wife got very good at it and I bet you are, too.  Greg’ll catch up fast, if I’m not mistaken and that’ll be good for Mycroft.  Get called out when he’s trying to hide things and he does that a _lot_.  You know I’m not lying, John, or at least you’re pretty sure I’m not.  That last ten percent is just you being stubborn and not wanting to give me any credit at all for not dicking you over.  And that’s ok… I don’t deserve any.  But I’m not lying here.  There’s no black water between us, John.  Sherlock, Mycroft… yeah, they have a right to hate my guts, but I’ve played straight with you.  Only the name, John and there was no way I could let that out.  Not and have it stay under wraps for very long.”

      “Because I’d broadcast it like the BBC?  Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

      “Because you’d say something on the phone or in your flat and Mycroft would know.  If you think for a second he didn’t have you under surveillance, then you’re cracked.  I didn’t think you’d sell me out, but you wouldn’t have to and I couldn’t let Mycroft know.”

      “That’s why you didn’t want to come and help with Greg, isn’t it?  Because you might be discovered.”

      “Go get that ugly hat because you’re a killer detective today!  I wasn’t lying when I said I think Greg’s a great guy and that he’s the best possible person in the world for Mycroft, but, it was too risky.  And look!  I was right.  Well, maybe if shit hadn’t gone south with Mycroft’s big breakfast theater, things would still be ok, but something always happens when you don’t want it to, doesn’t it?  And now… I wonder if there’s a branch of divination that reads the future from shrapnel patterns.”

      “I really don’t think you’d want that discussion.”    

      “No, but I’m going to get it anyway.  Just believe me when I say I had no intention, absolutely zero intention, of letting this happen.”

      “You mean letting them know who you are.”

      “Shitty as it sounds, yes.  They didn’t need me.  Sherlock and Mycroft had put me far out of their minds and there was no reason to change that.”

      “You’re wrong.  There was _every_ reason to change that.  Did you _see_ Mycroft!”

      “That was surprise.  He got blindsided and that does not happen to Mycroft King of the World Holmes.  But, you can’t stuff the baby back in the womb, so I’ll have to wait and see what he and Sherlock have in store for me.”    

      “And then what?  Are you here now?  Three Musketeers and Christmas dinners?”

      “Remind me to tell you about Christmas dinner in our home sometimes, John.  And I don’t know… it’ll depend on what my brothers want.  I don’t want to fuck up their lives any more than I already have and if that means sitting half a globe away for the rest of my life then that’s fine by me.  Personally… I’ve missed them more than you can possibly imagine and if I can at least hang around on the edge somewhere, having a drink with them now and then, then I’d like that.  If they want me gone, though, then you better keep your trap shut to keep from eating my dust.”

Another long drink of something John disapproved of before the disapproving doctor stole the bottle a second time, hesitating only a second before taking his own measure down the throat.

      “Well, at least you’re thinking about what _they_ want… that’s something.  I don’t know what to say, Sam.  I really don’t.”

      “Then just drink more and it won’t be an issue.”

      “You’re not getting this back, you know.”

      “Like there aren’t a bajillion other ones over there.  And a snap of my fingers and the liquor store boy will have a _case_ of something pleasantly-lethal on the doorstep for my imbibing pleasure.  But I’ll be happy to share it with you since we’re square now.  Which we are, right?  Or at least squarish.  Vaguely rectangular is enough for me right now, actually.”

Arguing with Sam was exactly as bad as arguing with Sherlock and John had no idea why he hadn’t noticed it earlier.  No matter how strong his opinion or how right he knew he was about something, he always ended up backing whatever craziness he was trying to rail against.  But, as he ran through his memories, he had to admit two things.  First, Sam had been invaluable in keeping him going during the time Sherlock was gone.  Second, no matter what his name really was, there was no denying that he was an astounding practitioner who had helped a large number of people.  Maybe he wasn’t Sam Harris, but John couldn’t actually think of anything that not being Sam Harris really changed.  Damn the man…

      “Vaguely rectangular might be pushing it, but I can agree to oblong.”

      “Oblong works… I can live with oblong.  Thank you, John.  It means a lot to me.”

      “You’re still not getting this bottle back.”

      “Fuck you and the bicycle you rode in on.”

      “How in the world do you fuck a bicycle?”

      “Got some paper?  I’ll draw it for you.”

      “I think I’m revoking my oblong offer.”

      “Too late.  And I’m going to throw in some rollerskate porn while I’m at it.”

      “I need another drink.”

     “No way, you’ll need at least four for this.”


	22. Chapter 22

Sherrinford.  _Sherrinford_ … He was alive!  He was _here_!  _Had_ been here and completely… it was all so clear now.  Now!  Only now… he had missed everything, failed to notice, to question, to _observe_.  The stupid man… befuddled him.  As Sherrinford had always done.  Made his brain whip itself into a tornado of chaotic thoughts that left him enraged and grasping for arguments to counter the whirlwind.  And Sherrinford would simply smirk and goad him further.  Managing conversations with any other human was pitifully easy after battling Sherry’s insanity.  Not that he would admit that the honing of his young mind was in any manner benefitted by his brother’s foolish debates.  Any benefit was far overshadowed by… the fact his brother was a half-crazed wastrel.  Never took his lessons seriously, never took his responsibilities seriously, drank… Mummy and Father had no _idea_ how much Sherry drank.  Or did not choose to know.  Dallied  with a wide variety of young and not-so-young women.  Utterly the opposite of the principles of their family.  Of most of their family, at least.

And forever attempting to spread his lack of maturity.  How many times was he pulled along to some ridiculous film or sporting event or fete or performance… forced, by act of being converted into a human projectile, to swim, _swim_ , in the lake on their estate.  With the various creatures and plants it contained.  Why did no one reflect upon the fact that all creatures had excretory systems and fish were not able to leave the water to relieve themselves?  Horrible.  He was a horrid brother.  Foolish and everpresent!  Always  there… never far, always available… he would disturb a lesson or meeting between Sherry and some agent of Mummy or Father and Sherry would immediately table the remainder of the agenda to tend to his needs.  Take him whenever required to purchase books or art supplies, though he would insist on adding ridiculous items to their trove such as games or musical selections that were absolutely disagreeable and which Sherry relished playing at full volume, often choosing to provide accompaniment with his own voice.  And dancing… the dreadful, dreadful dancing…

And the _reading_ … the hours of sitting next to his brother listening to him read.  Sherry gladly sat entire afternoons or evenings reading any book he brought him.  They would sit in the library where there was always a fire… _always_ a fire… and Sherry would read.  Later, _he_ would read and Sherry would listen.  For however many hours he wanted, without regard to the topic of the book… helping with the vocabulary, explaining the more challenging concepts… or Sherrinford would simply watch while he drew.  Even when he could scarcely create a cat that was zoologically-distinguishable, Sherry would sit and encourage him.  Praise him.  Offer new subjects to challenge and entertain… and his brother happily papered over the extremely expensive wall coverings of his own bedroom with the drawings and early paintings he produced.

He was always there… always available… for every triumph or turmoil.  Always an ear willing to listen, a shoulder on which to lean, a source of strength or safety when both were lacking elsewhere…  Then he wasn’t there.  Wasn’t available.  Vanished as completely as if he never existed, but he _had_.  The proof lived, as it always had, locked away where none could ever steal or damage it.  Photographs, notes, drawings… so many small things that proved Sherry had not been the hallucination of a young, lonely mind as it often felt Mummy and Father were trying subtly to manipulate him into believing.

      “How you doing, love?”

Gregory… his new source of strength and safety.  Something he had vowed he would never again need.  His love would never fully understand how, between his parent’s frigid marriage and Sherry’s abandonment, he had structured his life, made decisions, ordered his behaviors so he would never find himself standing alone, desperate for a simple ear to hear his pain.  Or what it meant that all of that careful planning was circumvented by a man with a beautiful smile and an even more beautiful heart.

      “I am recovering, though I harbor some fear that if I attempt to set my feet upon the ground I shall again find it shifting under me.”

      “Well, considering the shock you got today, I’m not surprised.  You know the only thing that’s going to fix that, don’t you?”

Unfortunately, yes.

      “I do not know what to say to him.  How do I face him and engage in conversation, Gregory?  How do I do that?”

      “You’ll know what to do.  You’re Mycroft bloody Holmes!  You take charge and make things happen.  You make people do what you want even if they don’t know they’re doing it.  You can handle a talk with your brother.  Maybe… maybe don’t even think of him that way.  At least not at first.  You handled Sam well enough, I think you can do the same for Sherry.  Which is a stupid name, anyway, so that should give you a bit of a laugh.”

Mycroft didn’t want to smile, but his Detective Inspector had sorcerous powers.

      “He hated it.  But he hated _Sherrinford_ a great deal more, so there was little other option.  I remember a time… he filled page after page of paper in an attempt to restructure his name into some form of acceptable diminutive.  He did not meet with success.”

Laughter.  That it was said to the best medicine was not far from wrong, especially when it was so strong and free as it always was from his Gregory.

      “Poor bastard.  I’d have done the same.  See, you’ve got all sorts of ammunition to go at him with if he gets cheeky.  I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, Mycroft, because it won’t, but I think you’ll do fine.  You always do and that's one of the many, many things I love about you.  Give you a challenge and there’s no question you’re coming out on top.”

If only Mycroft could believe that.  There was one person he rarely, if ever, bested and that was the person he had to face and demand answers.

      “That is not so simple a thing as you might expect, in this case.”

Lestrade did his best to run a hand along Mycroft’s arm and gave him as much of a squeeze as he could muster.

      “What are you really worried about, Mycroft?  Nothing bad he can say will change the important things in your life.  Not really, anyway.  No matter how awful, tomorrow won’t be any different than if you didn’t talk to him.  You’ll still have me and the rest of this lot.  You’ll still do you job and save the world.  The only thing different is that you’ll have a bit more information in that big brain of yours.  And who knows… maybe you’ll feel better.  This… this has to have weighed on you.  Even if you don’t like what you hear… it’ll have to move some of that weight.  It’ll _have_ to.”

Weighed on him?  Crushed him, more like it.  The nightmares that followed his brother’s disappearance.  The nearly-paralyzing fear that the same would happen to Sherlock.  He’d had Sherlock bed moved into his room for two years after Sherry had vanished and it was only the petulant and shrill insistence of his baby brother that put the bed back into its former place.  The guilt… the guilt that this was his fault.  That he had failed somehow.  Done something wrong.  Been a disappointment.  All as a layer burbling beneath the alteration in his position in the family which immediately laid on him a wealth of burdens.  Even at 10 years old, he was pressed into the training that would serve to prepare him for what his adult life would require.  And he hated Sherry for it.  Hated him for leaving and forcing him into a life that was not meant to be his.  Hate, despair, guilt, longing, fear, desperation… they had made him who he was today and there would be no gratitude bestowed for that.

      “You are correct.  As always, you see the truth of things when the heart is concerned.  I have long suffered that weight but…”

      “But what?”

      “But is it wrong to fear losing it?  What shall be left, Gregory?  It has been the anchor which has tethered everything I have ever done.  Everything I have become.  What will its loss do to me?”

Lestrade wished he wasn’t such a pathetic invalid so he could do more for his lover.  Hold him properly.  Take him for a walk.  Drag him into a hot bath and let him soak away whatever bile was poisoning him.  Take a good swing at Sam and hold him down while Mycroft gave him a what for.  Anything but lay here like a useless piece of crap barely able to wrap an arm around the man he loved.  It was stupid to promise that he’d never let Mycroft down again like this, owing to the work he did, but he was going to make that promise anyway.  He had to… Mycroft deserved it.

      “Nothing.  It won’t do anything to you, love.  Nothing big, at least.  It’s like… ok, let’s say it was a real anchor.  And it got dropped down to the bottom of the sea and someone forgot and just left it there.  Over a long, long, long time there’d be a whole huge colony of life growing all over it!  And it’d go this way and that and spawn new colonies and drive down to the rocks below and if the anchor rusted away, everything else would survive.  Even if someone ripped the anchor out, yeah there’d be a hole, but everything else would be intact.  You are what you are and, well at this age, that’s not going to change.”

Mycroft turned his head to look fully into his partner’s eyes.  A more magnificent man did not exist on this earth.

      “A seafloor colony, Gregory.  Really?”

      “What can I say?  Arthur and me watch a lot of educational programming.”

This time, it was Mycroft that laughed and that small act seemed to free up something in him that had frozen into place at his brother’s announcement.  His Gregory _was_ correct.  Tomorrow he would still be loved, still have a family, still excel in a career which he was unique in holding… the anchor might be gone, but the life would remain.

      “Quite academic of you.  I heartily approve.  Now, I must ask if you can spare me for awhile, my dear.  I feel it is time to make a start on obtaining the answers I seek.”

      “Want me to be there?  I can and I’ll do it gladly.  Have your little chat in here and I’ll have your back no matter what happens.”

And he would.  Of that Mycroft had no doubt.  He would defend, protect, advocate, promote… he would stand with him no matter the nature of the storm.  But… under no circumstances would Mycroft allow a storm to rage in this room.  Gregory’s spirit far outpaced his body in strength and he would be subject to no words or actions that would cause undue stress.

      “Would you take offense if I said that this was something I must undertake alone?”

      “Nope.  Because I’d say the same thing.   Just know that I’m here for you, ok?  Even if you two rage on half the day and night, I’ll be waiting when you’re done.”

      “Thank you, my dear.  It is here that I shall return, for I have no doubt I will have a profound need for your company.”

      “Then I promise not to skip off to the pub and have a few.”

      “Quite wise, although, I do not see the harm in allowing you to indulge a bit upon my return.”

His Gregory’s enthusiasm was both highly exaggerated and deeply encouraging.  He _would_ weather this storm and have a safe harbor to which to return.

      “No more level line?”

      “Well, we shall consider it more of a guideline this one occasion.”

      “Suddenly my day’s looking better!”

      “And I shall endeavor to keep it that way.  I shall return… later.”

Mycroft slowly rose from the bed and pretended again not to notice his partner’s pain from his moving.  Gregory would not be pleased if he made mention of it or cheapened the comfort he had offered.  And that offering, that sacrifice, was more precious than any gift of jewels or gold.  All along his Detective Inspector had sacrificed, suffered and forgiven horrible injustices and if there was a certainty that Mycroft could hold onto it was that he would do everything in his power to be worthy of it.

__________

If one stood in a specific spot in his sitting room, it was very easy to determine the location of others in his house from the direction of the sounds they made, be it on the ground floor or higher.  As best he could discern, Arthur and Martin were in Sherlock and John’s temporary bedroom and, in all likelihood, Sherlock was also present, although he did not appear to be contributing to the conversation.  In his study were two people, one of whom was his quarry and the other… it was really only then that the impact of Sherrinford’s revelation on John rose to the forefront of Mycroft’s mind.  Poor John… the man he had called a friend, a _good_ friend and colleague and betraying him in such a manner… but, there was no indication of raised voices or physical violence so either one of the men had been drugged or their conversation was actually a peaceful one.  Knowing Sherlock’s partner, both answers were equally likely.

With a hesitation he would sever his carotid artery before admitting, Mycroft gave a quick knock to the study door and strode in without waiting to receive a response.  If one man was in the process of killing the other, some measure of surprise might forestall continued action.

      “Well, who won?”

      “You damn well know who won.  Who always wins when we bet?”

      “And yet, John, you still keep trying.  That’s what I like about you, that determined English bulldog spirit.  We can settle up later.”

      “I’m not paying you, if that’s what you think.”

      “Then you’d better check your bed very, very carefully before turning in.  You’d be surprised how easy it is to hide an unpleasant surprise in all those fluffy sheets.”

      “Bastard.”

      “Welcher.”

      “Fine, you’ll get your… $1.42.  You do know I’ll have to go to a bank and get the currency, right?”

      “Not my problem.  Bring back bagels, while you’re at it.”

      “Mycroft, he’s all yours.  And may god have mercy on you.”

John put down his glass of whatever Sam had poured last and made a hasty retreat, pausing only a moment to give Mycroft what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze on the arm.  For his part, Mycroft stood and stared at his brother, seeing fully now all of the physical signs that should have set his inner alarms sounding.  He was _there_.  In this much-older man was the face of his brother.  And in the way he sat, the way he moved… his voice.  How stupid he had been!  It was all there and had _always_ been there but he had failed to see any of it.

      “You weren’t looking for it.  Don’t beat yourself up.”

Damnation!  And…that!  Sherrinford’s infuriating ability to discern every thought in his head before a single word was spoken.  That was _not_ something he had missed throughout the years...

      “The greatest disguises and traps are always those for which we do not even possess an inkling of their existence.”

      “Sit down, Mycie.  We’ve got some talking to do.”

      “Can you remove that odious American twang from your voice?  It is irritating at best and ludicrous at worst.”

      “Not easily.   This really is me now.  I worked very hard to lose my accent and I had to do it fast.  Can’t be Samuel Harris from Boston if you sound like Forsythe Pennybright from East-Bumfuck-on-the-Thames.”

      “You… you do not speak as a Bostonian.”

      “Well, that’s what’s on my birth certificate.  I tell people I traveled a lot when I was young.  Lot of south and southwest and… everywhere.  Pays that I actually _did_ travel a lot once I hit the States, so I wasn’t faking everything I was saying.”

      “Birth certificate… you… your paperwork is…”

      “Perfect.  I know.”

      “No, you do not know.  There is no such animal as a perfect false identity and…”

      “Who said it’s false?”

Mycroft blinked in surprise, but finally took the offered seat and, after a moment, stood again to retrieve a clean glass from his sideboard to hold what he hoped would ultimately be nerve tonic.

      “Explain yourself.  _You_ do not exist.”

      “The hell I don’t!  Up to when I got to the States, yeah… that’s all horseshit, but everything after that… where I went to school, where I worked, who I married… all that’s real.  I haven’t been living as Sherrinford Holmes and just put on a mask when I came here.  I lived as the person you’ve met.  That’s who I am.  I haven’t been Sherrinford since my foot hit land on that side of the drink.  Never.  Not for a minute.  Not until that fucking pain medicine screwed with my brain, just like I said it would.  So, calling it a false identity is a little weak, thank you very much and downright insulting.  Plus, that’s not what you really care about anyway, so stop pussyfooting and move on to the stuff that matters.”

Actually, it _was_ something in which Mycroft was _very_ interested, because he had investigated Samuel Harris to his birth and found absolutely no inconsistencies, but it would wait.  There _were_ other matters that had priority.

      “Very well… shall I ask you outright or would you rather streamline this ordeal by simply offering your confession?”

      “Pfffttt….  If I wasn’t so tired and half-drunk, no that hasn’t changed as you probably know by now, I’d flip you off and do some aerial acrobatics with that finger just to be fancy.  In fact, pour me out a little more of that whisky of yours to wet my whistle.”

      “Do you think that is wise?”

      “Do you want your ass thumped like I used to do when you hid my booze?”

No.  The rare times Sherrinford’s anger had risen to physical levels was when Mycroft had hidden the family’s alcohol supply so his brother would be inconvenienced.  As a child, it seemed a prank, but in hindsight… he should have done something, talked to Mummy and Father to get his brother the help he needed.

      “Your threats no longer carry weight… I am at a loss for a form of address.”

      “Whatever makes you the most comfortable.  I’ve been Sam a lot longer than Sherrinford, but if Sherry’s easier, use it.  I don’t mind either way.”

      “For the moment… I shall retain use of Samuel.  As I was saying, Samuel, your threats are lackluster at best.  Firstly, we are both grown men and you no longer have the physical advantage over me as you did when we were children.  Secondly, your current condition even more significantly precludes any retributory actions, were you foolish enough to attempt them.”

      “Oh, I can still kick your ass and don’t think I can’t.  But you’re going off topic again and I’m starting to wonder if we should just shelve this for awhile longer until you can get your head together.”

      “I assure you, my head is _quite_ , as you say, together.”

And he meant it.  To a point.  But this discussion could not be postponed.  The longer these issues were unaddressed… the greater the likelihood they never would be resolved…

      “Then pour me a drink and I’ll get started.  And I’ll answer those questions first – yes I still have a drinking problem, no I don’t drink when I work, no I don’t drink and drive, no I’ve never been to rehab, yes I cut it way down when I had my kid, yes I took time off after they died and drank myself nearly into the grave and yes I only went back to work when I could do it safely.  That part over with or do you need more?”

It shouldn’t hurt.  None of it should, but it cut deeply hearing his brother’s words.  He could have helped!  He could have… been there, as he had been for Sherlock.  Not that it had produced any noticeable results beyond keeping his brother alive, but he had always harbored some small hope that Sherlock’s mind was somewhat eased by the knowledge that he cared.  It was probably a foolish hope, but it was one he clung to, nonetheless.  Perhaps, perhaps it would have been different with Sherry.  And witness the weakness of his will…even now the name Samuel was beginning to sour in his mind…

      “You couldn’t have done anything, Mycroft…”

      “YOU DO NOT KNOW THAT!”

Both men seemed shocked at Mycroft’s outburst, but the younger Holmes had no intention of losing momentum that this point.

      “You have no idea what might have happened for you did not allow me any choices!  You took them.  You took _all_ of them away when you abandoned me without a word.  Without a _word_!  Gone while I slept and… have you any idea of the suffering?  The pain, the guilt, the sorrow… do you have any idea what I endured when you left?  And what was left to me?  All of my choices, Sherry… even what I wanted for my own life you ripped from me and…”

      “WRONG!  You had NO choices, Mycroft!  That is precisely _why_ I left!”

Now, it was only Mycroft that was shocked and this shock was far more profound.  Of course he had choices… he had a lifetime of choices…

      “Wh…whatever do you mean?  I had a world of options and you left me… with this!”

      “You had NOTHING!  If you think for a minute that you were going to be allowed to choose your own path, you’re an idiot!  You had no more say in things than I did, but… I could change that.  I _did_ change that and I’ve hated myself every day for it.  Hurt every day.  I have lived my life without my brothers… my brothers that I loved so much it fucking aches inside as much today as it did the day I left… just to give you the _this_ you seem to be tossing around like it’s nothing!”

Mycroft stared at the man across from him and, again, felt the horrible sensation of being completely unmoored.

      “I do not… I fail to understand what you are saying.”

The oldest Holmes finally poured his own drink and took a long sip before answering.

      “I’m not like you, Mycroft, and thank god for it.  You were the consummate Holmes.  I was… me.  I don’t know how much you remember of the fights, the cold and brutal fights between Mummy and me because I was what I was.  Impulsive, wild, immature, irresponsible… I had the smarts and the cunning of a Holmes, but nothing else.  And there I was already being groomed to be inserted into the heart of government and it was the last thing, the very last thing on Earth I wanted.  I hated it.  I hated all of it, but the thing I hated worst…. what I despised most of all was what it was going to do to _you_.”

Unmoored and now beginning to feel the pull of a vortex that threatened to drown him.

      “I do not follow, not in the slightest.”

      “Because I made it so you wouldn’t.  Think, Mycie!  Sherlock’s off the table because he was the youngest.   He’d get to do whatever he wanted.  But you… you were the middle kid.  The spare to my heir.  I was going to be dragged onto the proverbial throne and where did that leave you?  Let me tell you… nowhere.  Already the talk was about how convenient it was that I’d have an assistant I could trust.  Someone to muddle about middle-management and take care of things… take care of the things _I_ told you to do and live a simple, pointless life without any real hope for your own advancement because where you _should_ be I was already sitting.  They weren’t going to let you study what you wanted or follow your own career path… you were going to waste your life being second-chair to me and I couldn’t allow that.  I could _not_ let my baby brother waste his life when he deserved so much better!  You deserved what I was supposed to have!  You had the mind, the skills, the personality, the ambition… you were more mature at six than I was at sixteen!  You were the best of us, Mycroft… the very best and you were never, ever going to be allowed to realize any of it with my ass in the way.  As soon as I knew it wouldn’t change, I got the hell out of there.  And no I didn’t tell you because… you were the one person who had the power to change my mind and I could _not_ let that happen.  I’m sorry, you will never, ever, know how sorry I am that I left, but I have never been sorry a single moment for _why_ I left.”

Unmoored, drowning and dashed upon the rocks… Mycroft’s mind raced, flew through the years looking for the flaw, the piece of evidence that proved his brother wrong.  But… the more his mind worked, the more he found that lent support to Sherrinford’s words… Mummy’s quiet, but dismissive smiles as he talked about his art, Father’s vague and insubstantial comments when he talked about his own childish thoughts concerning the future, the attention given to Sherry and Sherlock while… while it was Sherry that provided the bulk of his own.

      “I love you, Mycroft.  You were my little brother and I loved you as fiercely as you love Sherlock.  I did what I had to so you could have a real future, not a pasty mockery of what could have been.  And before you say anything, you think on this… if you had to, if he really needed it, you would do the same for Sherlock.  You’d give up everything, you’d lose everything you’ve built and you wouldn’t hesitate.  Even if he hated you, even if he didn’t care… you’d do it.  You know you would.”

Yes, he would.  There had been times… he had considered at times spiriting Sherlock away from London.  Taking him somewhere lacking the temptations that were killing him and finding a new life for them both.  His money, power and position were doing nothing to save his brother and if he lost them… it would not have mattered.  Not if their loss gave Sherlock another chance at his own future.  It had never come to that; however… no, he would _not_ have hesitated.

      “I… I will consider what you have said.  But… why never a word?  Not one word, not a single one?  Surely after some time had passed it would have been possible to reestablish communication?”

      “Not part of the deal.”

Mycroft’s downward spiral stopped at its current position and took a small detour upwards a few body lengths.

      “Deal?”

Sam finished his drink and immediately poured another.   If Mycroft wasn’t keenly aware of the man’s apparent lack of limits, he might be concerned.

      “I didn’t just up and vanish in the night, Mycroft.  I fought Mummy and Father for months before I went.  Tried to get them to just let me be what I was, the family black sheep, and let you step up and be the man with the crown.  Father… Father would have been fine with that decision, but not _her_.  Not going to destroy the _natural order_ , like she even knew what that meant.  No bringing such disgrace to the Holmes name… Father was the Holmes, not her.  I finally threatened to just leave.  Run away and _that_ she had no problem with.  It was less of a disgrace than me hovering around reminding people how defective a son she’d produced.  But if I left, there was no coming back or everything I’d left for would be taken away.  You’d get pulled down from the mountaintop.  That was the deal, you see?  I get what I wanted, you with the life you deserved and she got what she wanted, never having to lay eyes on me again.”

      “But… no.  Father would never have agreed to such a thing!”

      “His health was already failing, Mycroft.  You know that.  He didn’t have the fight in him anymore.  And… he knew I was right.  Knew it was the best thing for you.  If it could have gone the way I wanted… that would have made him happiest, but he understood the situation.  And… well, you don’t think a 16 year-old kid just throws everything away and is able to start a new life an ocean away without _some_ help?”

It was the first true smile he’d seen on his brother’s face yet and it was so very much the one Mycroft remembered.

      “Father assisted you in your relocation.”

      “A little.  Mostly he just made sure I had some cash before Mummy closed off all my accounts and did a quick bit of paperwork the bitch didn’t know about so that I was awarded a newly-created scholarship when I enrolled in college.  Nice one, too… followed me right through medical school, but I had to work my ass off to keep a roof over my head and food in my mouth, on top of going to classes.  And… he visited once.  Took a detour from a _business_ trip and stayed a few days.  Brought me some photos of you and Sherlock and a couple of your newest drawings.  Maybe… maybe if he hadn’t died, I could have come back someday.  Even if it was only for a visit, but once he was gone… no way.  That was the end of that.”

Mycroft sat up straight, realizing he’d been hunching over more and more as his brother told his story.  This… none of this was what he had expected.  None of it he had remotely factored into his calculations.  He knew that Mummy and Sherry did not have a healthy relationship, but he had not every witnessed anything to suggest this level of animosity.  But then… both Mummy and Sherry were very good at hiding things they didn’t want known.

      “Your identity… Father established it.”

      “Back to that?  Actually, only sort of.   I took one that was already available and he just fine-tuned it a little.”

Why was _nothing_ in this conversation going as predicted?

      “Please explain.”

      “Ok… it’s like this.  We _all_ had other identities.  You, me and Sherlock.  They were fallbacks in case something went horribly wrong and we _all_ had to vanish.  There were about seven of them, different countries, and all started when were born.  For every document, letter or photo, copies were made and added to the records.  You’ve got or had a whole series of birth certificates, vaccination records, school records… all as real as they could be, just a little alteration for locations.  All properly filed with the appropriate jurisdictions, all maintained and kept up to date.  I just grabbed the American one.  Figured that would be the best country for someone like me.  Samuel, Michael and Steven Harris… all ready and waiting in case, I don’t know, the Huns came crashing through the forest or something.  Father just had any photos changed, but the rest stayed as it was.  You weren’t going to be able to find me, Mycroft because my identity went back to birth and, yeah… it _was_ perfect.  Especially after I moved into it and just started tacking on new things.”

It was…flawless.  Not a false identity but a mirror identity, sitting in wait.  It was a very practical idea, a _very_ good strategy… and not one he would forget in the eventuality children were added to any of the households under his protection.

      “I believe I understand and I cannot deny the beauty of the tactics.  I must admit, however, that I am gladdened I did not have to accept the name Michael and continue my existence in a foreign land.”

Mycroft had no idea what he had said to anger his brother, but the fire that rose in his eyes was unnerving.

      “You take that back!  That _was_ your name or would have been and it was the only part of you I could give to Jimmy so you hold your fucking tongue!”

Mycroft did grab the bottle out of his brother’s hands this time and held it tightly as he fought to shove down the surge of emotion that slammed into him like a tidal wave.

      “You… you named your son after me?”

      “Who else?  My wife got James, her father’s name, and I got Michael, for you.  Couldn’t call him Mycroft… that would have tripped your sensors faster than anything.  I did what I could.  James Michael Harris… next in line for the Holmes dynasty.  Would have… would have made all of us look like idiots.”

At the first sign of the break, Mycroft was out of his chair and next to his brother on the sofa, first clasping his hand then tossing his reserve to the winds and taking his brother in a firm embrace while the older man let years of bitterness and pain run down his face.

      “I’m sorry, Mycroft… I’m sorry for everything.  I never forgot you… never…”

Mycroft stroked Sherrinford’s arm for a long few moments and when he shifted slightly and caught a glimpse of his brother’s skin, he nearly gasped aloud seeing the uncovered tattoo.  With new eyes, he saw the true depth of the story.

      “Your arm… that… it is the library.  _Our_ library…”

Sherrinford drew back and wiped his face before letting a weak smile move across his lips.

      “I thought that would have given me away, but… yeah, it’s the library.  The best room in the house.  You… you have no idea how much I enjoyed that, Mycroft.  Sitting in there, playing with you… when you were really small.   Then later, with your books and, fuck me, you have no clue how much I loved to watch you draw.  You were so talented and your imagination… the things you’d come up with.  I… I saw the pictures in Greg’s room.  You’re still good, but you haven’t practiced in a long time, have you?”

Mycroft found himself tracing the lines on his brother’s skin and knew he didn’t need to answer.

      “And it was my fault, wasn’t it?  You got too busy at some point, too many other things that needed your time and no one… no one to share it with.  God, there is nothing I’ll ever be able to do to make any of it up to you, Mycie.  _Nothing_ and I’m not going to even lie to you or me and pretend there will be.”

There were tears again, but Mycroft scarcely noticed as he tried to process everything.  His art… it had been his balm, but one that lost its appeal over time.  He’d continued for many years, but there was always something lacking.  Always a touch of inspiration he no longer possessed.  Finally, it had become something he set aside because he had no time available, or so he had told himself.  But… Sherry was also correct.  He had no one with whom to share it.  That had been the element he had missed.  The piece that elevated his work from a hobby to pass the time to something he felt in his blood and provided a sense of achievement and contentment.  Now, he could indulge himself and enjoy every moment of it as he had done so very long ago when the whole world had seemed filled with possibilities.

But what about this world?   It only occurred this very moment to Mycroft that the horrible dead feeling in his gut had slowly dissolved and now… what?  He had gotten his answers and, as Gregory had properly noted, it ultimately changed nothing.  But it had _shifted_ everything.  Altered the hues ever so slightly.  So again the question… now what?

      “Don’t think too hard about it, Mycroft.  Not yet, at least.  Just… let things sink in for right now.  Go be with Greg and talk to him.  Let him help you.  I… I never got to talk to Laura about this.  Could never take the risk and that’s another thing I hate myself for, but you go and talk to Greg and let him work through things with you.  It’ll be good for the both of you and then we can talk some more.  As much and as often as you like.  I… I don’t know what you want me to do right now, go home or stay here but….”

      “Stay here.”

Mycroft didn’t remember his mind thinking about the answer before he said it, but he was not going to question anything at this point.

      “Ok… I can do that.  Anything you want.  And I’m not going to push you, Mycroft.  Not going to try and be BFF’s or anything.  I hope… I hope that somehow, in some way, I can be around.  Even if it’s just a phone call sometimes or a few drinks now and then.  Or more.  Or nothing.  That’s up to you.  Whatever you want, that’s what I’m going to do.”

Mycroft just nodded and decided that, at the moment, he had no idea what he wanted beyond one thing.  He needed Gregory.  Sherry was absolutely right, as per usual.   Gregory would help him to understand.  To sort and organize his thoughts.  To be the safe and loving ear he desperately required.

      “Go, Mycie.  Go to him and start working through this.  I won’t be far.”

Mycroft nodded again and rose from the sofa, taking a few steps towards the door before pausing for a final question.

      “Were you ever going to inform me?”

The brothers locked eyes and Mycroft had his answer.

      “No.  I didn’t want to hurt you again.  That was the _last_ thing I ever wanted to do.”

With no further words, Mycroft simply left the study, closing the door quietly behind him.  The remaining occupant stared at the fire… Mycroft had kept his love for a warm fire, it seemed… and drank slowly from the bottle of the moment, counting the minutes until he set it aside and made a quick check that he didn’t look too embarrassing.

      “Ok, Sherlock… you’ve been eavesdropping long enough and were smart enough to beat feet when Mycroft left, so you win the prize of the next turn at the old man.  Come on in…”

The study door opened and a very wary Sherlock Holmes walked into the room, looking, to Sam’s eyes, exactly like his three year-old self when he’d done something he wasn’t sure if he’d get praised or scolded for.

      “It’s ok, Sherlock.  Have a seat and we can talk.  All night, if you’d like... about anything and everything you want…”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my sincere thanks for all of your kind words and helpful encouragement!

      “Mr. Sherlock!  Oh… Doctor Watson was right - you do look like you need a friendly ear.  Well my ear’s very friendly, so here I am.  And Skip.  Though I think he’s still a bit out of sorts, but that’s ok since I’ve got two friendly ears so you can each have one.”

Sherlock fought the fog in his mind and sent his thoughts swimming towards the source of the disturbance.

      “Arthur?”

      “Hi!  And here’s Skip!  Say hi, Skip.”

      “Hi, Skip.”

      “Oh, you _are_ still a bit off.  You didn’t even try to make that sound funny.  Go sit by Mr. Sherlock so I can keep an eye on both of you at the same time.”

Martin didn’t bother to comment and simply followed Arthur’s orders, dropping heavily on edge of the bed next to his cousin.

      “Well, we had a talk with Doctor Sam and it was very interesting.  YOUR BROTHER!  He’s your brother, Mr. Sherlock!  And Skip’s cousin!  And he remembers Skip and you being little and how you played together and were the best of friends, sort of like you were later but without Skip crying and getting hurt.  Isn’t that brilliant!  Doctor Sam remembers all of that and says Mycroft’s got pictures so we can all sit and sit and look at them so maybe you and Skip can remember, too.”

There was still a heavy haze in Sherlock’s head, but Arthur was doing an admirable job of breaking through it.  He’d tried to think, focus his thoughts after the Am… Samu… Sherrin… _the_ announcement was made and he still could not accomplish the task.  It was as if the circuits of his brain had all been taken offline and were only now slowly starting to function.  Clues… data… information… observation… all had failed him.  His… his _brother_ had been a significant presence in his life since they returned from Fitton and he’d not had the slightest inkling of his identity.  But he should have!  There should have been a triggering of _some_ memory or at least an alarm that something was strange about the man.  Though he _consistently_ presented as strange… thoroughly un-Holmesian.  Except his ability to manipulate or deceive.  And his battle of wits with Mycroft, from which he emerged victorious.  John said he was a spectacular diagnostician and surgeon.  A Holmes would be brilliant in any endeavor, especially the highly-skilled.  John!  John had said… he tried to kiss Samu… Sherrinford because of the resemblance to _him_.  How had he ignored that?

      “Mr. Sherlock?  Is your brain working properly?  It’s ok if it’s not because you got a bit of a shock, didn’t you?”

And the conversations… conversations on topics of the most personal and sensitive nature.  His wretched advice… utterly intrusive and presumptuous for a stranger.  It should have raised his curiosity!  He had simply thought the man to be a boor.  His brother… was this what brothers did?  Mycroft never behaved in that manner.

      “Yoo Hoo, Mr. Sherlock…”

Arthur’s energetic waving in front of his face finally pulled Sherlock out of his fugue and he grabbed Arthur’s wrist to stop the motion.

      “Hello, Arthur.”

      “Hi!  And say Hi to Skip.  It’s polite.”

      “Hello, Martin.”

      “Brilliant!  Just like when you were babies!”

      “Arthur, why are you talking about babies?”      

      “Not any babies, Mr. Sherlock.  You and Skip!  Doctor Sam says you were the greatest of friends and played together… oh, I wish they’d had video cameras when you were small so there could have been videos of you and Skip having fun in your nappies and giggling like little kiddies do.”

      “Martin… can you please clarify Arthur’s babble?”

      “He’s not babbling.  It just came up when we were talking to Sam and you know how Arthur is when he likes something.  I’m sure that by tomorrow there’ll be a drawing up on Greg’s wall of me and you toddling about and playing with blocks.”

      “I… I don’t remember doing that.”

      “Neither do I.  Apparently there was a time I was more than a science experiment to you and wouldn’t you just know that I have no memory of it.”

      “Martin, I have explained…”

      “I know.  I know…  funny thing was that Sam… Sherrinford… wasn’t surprised.  Apparently, he had to train Mycroft away from being a clueless bastard.  He just didn’t have time to train Mycroft to train you, I guess.

Sherlock simply nodded and let the words lie flat in his mind.  They were nowhere near the top of the list of information he needed to process and would have to wait until later for attention.

      “What… what else did Sherrinford say?”

      “Ummm… not much.  He said he had to talk to Mycroft first before he could talk with anyone else.  But he said he’d talk to us after that and I’m going to have a big list of questions to ask him.  A very large list and if you have any you want to put on my list, just let me know and I’ll write them down.  Oh, and we talked about… well, he tried to talk about maybe leaving and going back to America, but I took a rather firm stand on that.”

      “For what reason?”

      “Because I don’t want Doctor Sam going back to America!  He’s my cousin, almost, and he’s quite a lot of fun and a great doctor for Greg and…”

      “I mean, why did he want to talk to Mycroft first?”

      “I don’t know.  Well, I do because he said there were things Mycroft should hear first but since I don’t know what those are I don’t really feel right saying I know why he wanted to talk to Mycroft first.”

      “Thank you.  That is decidedly opaque.”

      “Hurray!”

      “Arthur, he means… forget it.  Hurray!”

      “I shall have to investigate the situation myself.”

      “Oh… I don’t think that’s a good idea.  Doctor Sam said…”

      “His wishes are not germane to my actions.”

      “Well… right now he’s talking to Doctor Watson and Doctor Watson might be a bit miffed if you interrupt their conversation because Doctor Watson wasn’t smiling when he said he wanted to talk and when Doctor Watson doesn’t smile… well, I don’t have to tell _you_ what that means.”

No, no he didn’t.  John… another item he could not process.  John had thought he had a friend, a confidante and now knew he had been deceived.  And that made Sherlock… angry.  Or confused.  Or sorrowful.  How did people sort through the miasma of emotions and make sense of it all?  But he _felt_ and that was a substantial change from what he had been experiencing to this point…

      “Your concerns are likely well-founded, Arthur.  I shall remain here awhile longer and give the heat of their conversation time to fade before I attempt to speak with Sherrinford myself.”

      “I think that’s very wise.  I know!  We can play charades while we wait!”

Martin’s loud groan was swatted away by Sherlock’s knock to his leg before the detective repositioned himself on the bed so that he was leaning against the headboard.

      “Why don’t you begin, Arthur, and Martin will happily participate.”

      “What about you, Mr. Sherlock?”

      “I shall be reflecting upon the nature of my new family situation, but I shall save Martin from inglorious defeat should it become necessary.”

      “Alright, but I don’t think you’ll have the chance because Skip is very good at charades.  He hardly ever takes more than thirty guesses to get it right!”

      “I shall observe his technique and make mental notes.”

      “Brilliant!”

__________

There were too many variables for Sherlock to accurately predict when he might get his chance at his brother, but finally decided to make a move after Arthur failed for the eighteenth time to guess “The Love Boat’ from Martin’s surprisingly robust portrayal of the title.  Leaving the two to continue their game, he quietly crept through the house to what he assumed was Sherrinford’s most likely location and stopped short at the door, hearing both his brothers on the other side.  The most telling thing, to Sherlock, was that he was well-aware his brother… Mycroft… had soundproofing measures he could initiate for his study yet had failed to use them.  Mycroft’s mind clearly was suffering greatly…

However, he couldn’t feel any upset at his brother’s lack of forethought because… he had wanted answers and, by listening to the conversation, had gotten them.  And they were not answers he would have expected.  Not at all.  Of the multitude of scenarios he had run through in his mind, none approached the actual truth and that was… would there ever be a time that Sherrinford would not confound him?  He had failed utterly to predict anything this man would do with any degree of accuracy.

Fortunately, he was not lost in the analysis of his new information when Mycroft took his leave and Sherlock was able to make it out of sight before Mycroft left the study to return to Lestrade for much-needed processing time of his own.  At that point, Sherlock found himself unsure of what to do.  He had his information and, try as he might, he could not necessarily fault Sherrinford for his actions.  But there was still something he lacked.  Something amiss and Sherlock felt the fool being entirely unable to actually state what that something _was_.  He hated this feeling.  It was the worst possible to experience and that single thing decided him to push open the study door and confront his brother, if only to try and chase away some of the mental unease that was refusing to abate.  He was taking a final, cleansing breath when Sherrinford’s voice sounded through the closed door.

      “Ok, Sherlock… you’ve been eavesdropping long enough and were smart enough to beat feet when Mycroft left, so you win the prize of the next turn at the old man.  Come on in…”

Damnation!  It was as if the man was sorcerous.  Perhaps this was a mistake.  Really he had nothing specific to discuss and the curiosity he had towards his brother could be assuaged at any time… however, if he scurried away at this point he would look the fool he felt, so there really was only one decision.  With that mental pronouncement, Sherlock pushed open the door and walked in slowly, hoping to gain clues to his brother’s mood before he crafted his strategy for approaching their discussion. 

      “It’s ok, Sherlock.  Have a seat and we can talk.  All night, if you’d like...”

Sherlock took in every detail of the man gently smiling at him and could not, with any surety, match them to a single one of his memories.  But… he could see resemblance, now that he thought to look for it.  Actually, there was a great deal of Father in his appearance, though Father’s hair had not quite gone as silver by the time he died.  He looked at the available seats and decided on the one slightly off-center from his brother, so he did not have to stare him directly in the eye unless that worked to his advantage.

      “How are you doing, Sherlock?  I know I seem to keep asking that, but I really do want to know.  This has to be a surprise for you and I have a feeling you don’t do well with surprises.”    

      “I am still reflecting on the new information.”

      “Wow.  That was the most sterile and unconvincing attempt at dodging a question I’ve ever heard.  You didn’t inherit _any_ of my verbal skills, did you?”

      “Your grasp of genetic inheritance is woefully flawed.”

      “Nah, I’m just messing with you.  And you know it.  Good job at giving me a jab, though.  Maybe there’s some hope for you yet.”

      “Is this how you generally converse with family?”

Sherlock almost regretted his words, seeing the flash of hurt race across the doctor’s face, but it was actually a question he wanted answered.

      “I guess so.  The wife liked to spar a little.  Mycroft didn’t so much like it as tolerate it when he was young.  Jimmy… he’d have been a champ at it.  Already had started giving me some good zingers when… yeah.  That’s all I really know for talking to family.  Mummy and Father… they more talked at me than to me, though I think Father tried sometimes; he just wasn’t sure how to go about it.  When he visited me that one time in the States, we actually talked and… I really wish we had done that a lot sooner.  And a _lot_ more often.”

      “I asked because I do not remember you.  I have no concept of you beyond the charade you have been perpetrating.”

The hurt on his brother’s face intensified, but it was heavily mixed with regret and a strange undercurrent of eagerness.

      “I know.  I hadn’t thought you’d remember anything, but I can’t say I didn’t hold out at least a little hope.  But I’m here now and anything you want to know you can ask.  I’m sure you heard everything I told Mycroft and we can talk about that if you want.”

      “There is nothing to discuss.  Your reasons for leaving were relevant only to Mycroft.  There was nothing in your conversation that indicated there was any consideration of me in your decision.”

When the words came out, Sherlock was barely able to contain his surprise at the obvious hint of venom behind them.  He didn’t care that his brother had not thought about him before leaving.  Not at all.

      “No, there wasn’t.  But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t the case.  I knew what was going to happen to Mycroft if I stuck around, Sherlock… but I could only hypothesize what was going to happen to you.  And… I don’t know if my staying or going would have made any difference.  Maybe it would have.  Maybe you’d have turned out to be someone completely different, but I sort of doubt it.  I was about ready to go off to college anyway and it would still have been Mycroft alone to deal with you.  Another part of the story, actually… a fucking big part of the reason I chose to leave when I did was _because_ of you.  You made the decision easier, if you want the truth and, from what I can tell, I was right about it.”

Sherlock stared at his brother, desperately trying to understand and Sherrinford found himself happily transfixed by the way his baby sibling was trying to pull together the pieces.  He’d been enraptured by Sherlock since he’d been back in London, most especially since he’d been involved in Lestrade’s recovery.  What he saw when he looked at the tall man sitting in the chair opposite him was still an adorable toddler with his cute little pout and wild, chaotic hair.

      “I don’t understand.”

      “It’s like this.  I could have waited a few years.  It would have been easier for me, actually, to wait a little and get Mycroft ready for me to go, but if I had… if I _had_ I’d have two brothers I’d hurt, not just one.  You wouldn’t remember me if I went when I did; maybe a few fleeting images, but nothing specific.  I would have no impact on your life if I took off at that point.  If I’d waited, you would have suffered and the thought of disappointing both you and Mycroft… it was just too much.  Don’t believe for a second that I didn’t think about you in this, Sherlock.  I thought about you a lot and you were a very large part of my decision.  I wanted to do the least hurtful thing possible to you and that sent me out the door sooner than later.  I think it worked, too.  Be honest… how often do you think about me?”

That, at least, was a very easy question for Sherlock to answer.

      “Never.  You are not and have never been a factor in my life or my thinking.”

      “Exactly.  But, I have to ask… not that it makes any difference… do you remember _anything_.  I’ve never forgotten one thing about you, but is there anything about me that stuck in your mind?”

There was a very slight undercurrent of hope in Sherrinford’s voice that Sherlock chose to ignore, but he did do a rapid walk through his deeper memories, those he rarely brought out for evaluation, and pulled out the very few about which he had always had questions.  The ones for which he could not quite pin down the reality versus the fantasy.  And for all, there was a single unifying theme…

      “Laughter.  I have a few early memories that involve laughter.  There was little to no laughter in our home and, for that reason, these have stood out as being unique.”

No, he did not feel anything watching Sherrinford’s face light up with a bright smile.  Nothing at all.

      “That’s because we used to laugh a lot.  Even Mycroft, now and then, though he was always more of a stick in the mud.  You’d laugh every time you did or saw something new and since your ass could never stay in one place for long, that was a lot of laughing.  We used to play together and all I had to do was drop something in front of you and you’d laugh and immediately start trying to grab at it and start exploring.  As soon as you could walk, you were _everywhere_ finding interesting tidbits and pointing at them for me to give to you so you could turn them round and round and take them apart, if that was possible.  We’d go outside and you’d toddle around having a blast seeing new things and laughing your head off from the sheer delight of discovery.  We laughed a _lot_ , Sherlock.  And all three of us, too.  Mycroft would be there, shaking his head at the nonsense.  The worst was when I’d blast my stereo and you’d laugh at me dancing.  Mycroft hated that.  Oh my god, you’d think I was literally killing him.  When I really wanted to send him through the roof, I’d put on some awful ballad and start belting it out, so he’d practically start looking for a gun to shoot himself.  You’d think it was hilarious, so you’d be laughing, he’d be seething and we’d have a grand old time.  So yeah… we laughed a lot.  I’m glad you held on to that, at least.  I’m really glad.”

No memory.  He had no memory of any of that beyond the sound of laughter.  He couldn’t say if it mattered to him, but Sherrinford was right.  He _didn’t_ remember, so it hadn’t made any difference to his life.  But now… now he _did_ know.  And there _was_ something different now.  He just didn’t know the nature of that difference and what it meant for him.

      “You had no plans to change things.  You had full intentions to withhold this information from Mycroft and me.”

      “Absolutely.  Why open the can of worms when it was over and done with for you two.  Decades of water under the bridge…  In all honesty, if you hadn’t pulled your bone-headed stunt of faking your death, I probably would never have set foot on the old home ground again in this lifetime.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and Sherrinford laughed at the obvious attempt to read his mind.

      “Explain yourself.”

      “Ok… your stupid plan had STUPID PLAN written all over it.  I know you had your reasons and I know you thought they were good reasons, but you could have done a better job of accomplishing your objectives than all that grandstanding.   But, people in love do stupid things…”

      “That was not a factor.”

      “Bullshit.  Don’t even try to sell me that pitiful lie.  You had your friends that you cared for and John that you were moon-eyed for and made some less than smart decisions because of it.  And those decisions were going to have long-lasting effects.  Very long-lasting and devastating effects if something wasn’t done about them.”

No, he had to have misunderstood that bit.

      “You… you came back for me?”

Such shock.  Such utter shock and disbelief.  But also such a large spoonful of thickly-cloaked glee at the idea he was considered so important.  Sherrinford wanted to give his brother a hug that would nearly be rib-breaking.  Maybe his absence _had_ impacted Sherlock, in some way, and for that, he couldn’t some small and rather shameful gratitude.

      “Yep.  I couldn’t let you destroy both yourself and John.  So I came back and latched onto John like a barnacle so he wouldn’t float away.  It was good for me, too, I won’t lie about that, because John’s a great guy and I’m proud to call him my friend.  But I would happily have continued along with being Sam Harris having a nice time with my new friend John and my good job to pay for my booze.  I wasn’t going to upset the apple cart, Sherlock.  I cared too much for Mycroft and you to disrupt your lives when I really didn’t have anything to offer you to… improve anything for you.  I still don’t, really.  I’m just an old doctor with nothing I can really do for you to make your life any better.  But anything I can give you, just ask and I’ll break my balls to make it happen.  Cat’s out of the bag, now, so why not make the most of it.”

Sherlock chewed on his lip a moment, then finally relaxed enough to lean back in his seat and begin let his body unwind.

      “John has said that your assistance was critical to him in enduring my absence.  For that, you have been beneficial, at least.”

      “Thanks.  Good to know.  John’s a great guy and I really can’t think of anyone who could possibly be better for you if I tried, so there was no way, no way in the world, I could let you lose that chance at happiness.  I lost mine.  Twice, really.  I lost _two_ families and that hurts so badly some days I don’t leave the bed _or_ the bottle.  But I wouldn’t ever wish to have not had those families.  You and Mycroft, Laura and Jimmy… I would never wish to not have known you.  Those memories are the most important things in my life and I would never trade losing my pain for losing _them_.  I wanted you to have memories of your own, Sherlock, and if you lost that chance I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself.  I just thought I could do a little fucking good without dropping myself into the equation.  But then, here comes John with his pain pills!  I’m ok with one or two of the pitiful ones, but give me anything heavier and I’m off my rocker.  I blame you, just so you know.  You need to train him better.”

The tiniest smile on his baby brother’s lips gave Sherrinford his own signal to begin relaxing.

      “John has proved resistant to training.  The most I can rely upon is the quality of my tea.”

      “Hey!  It’s a start.  And you’ve got plenty of time to work on him.  So, anything else you want to ask right now?  It’s ok if you don’t, we can talk later.”

How to even formulate all of the questions he wanted to ask?  Some were so nebulous that all he knew was he wanted to explore something which he could neither name nor describe!  But there was one thing…

      “You came back for me.”

      “Basically, yes.”

      “To give me a chance to have a life with John.”

      “Yep.”

      “Then why did you not return during the years where I freely indulged in drugs?  That period, from what I am told, posed jeopardy to my continued existence, whether it be happy or not.  You undoubtedly had some awareness of my life, else you would not have known of my actions towards dismantling Moriarty’s ring, however, you made no use of it until that point.”

Sherrinford started to rise from the sofa then let the ‘screw this’ that screamed through his brain change his mind and, instead, waved Sherlock over to retrieve another bottle from Mycroft’s supplies, which Sherlock did with a surprising minimum of fuss.  And one stiff shot was sufficient liquid courage, Sherrinford decided, to make him dive into that particular cesspit.

      “Good question.  And one I don’t have any comforting and wholesome answers for you.  I still have a few sources over on this side of the swimming pool that _no one_ knew about but me, so I’ve kept my ear to the ground for both you and Mycroft.  And yeah, I did know about you trying to kill your brain with all that crap, but… what was I going to do?  Here I am, with my own monkey on my back, so how do I step up and say ‘Hey Sherlock, just put the shit down and walk away.  That’s bad for you!’  Talk about being a hypocrite.. I’ve never beat my own problem, so who am I to tell you anything about yours?  Plus, you obviously weren’t ready to change.  No one can force a person to change; they have to do it on their own.  I was pretty out of control when I met my wife and the thought of losing her because of my stupidity was inspiration to at least scale things back.  I finally had a reason that worked for me... meant something to me.  Meant more than drowning in bourbon every night.  If you didn’t have a reason yet, I wasn’t going to be able to give you one.  And I knew you were in the best possible hands with Mycroft.  I doubt you’ll ever realize just how much he cares about you, but if there was anyone who could keep your head above water, it was him.  I don’t know what else I could have brought to the party, but if there was _some_ good I could have done and you suffered because of it then I’m sorry.  I’m very, very sorry.”

The first part of Sherrinford’s speech had merit, but Sherlock was still not certain that Mycroft’s role in his return to sobriety was as extensive as this brother, or Lestrade, tried to present.

      “Even if that were true, you did not believe he could properly manage the situation with John?”

      “Not because he wouldn’t try.  He would, but that’s always been a weak spot for him.  Mycroft always had trouble making friends, let alone holding onto them, and from what I’ve put together, his romantic life has sucked royally, despite being a wastrel, according to you.  He _would_ try, but he’d be so out of his depth he’d be drowning before he dipped one toe in the pond.  I wouldn’t have been any good to you when you were high, but I _could_ do good for you in this situation, so I stepped in.  If I didn’t think I could make a difference, though, I wouldn’t have come.  If you really want to get morbid, though, I _would_ have come to your funeral, but I’m not sure if I would have talked to Mycroft even then.  That would have been way too much for him to deal with.”

Though it stung, Sherlock found some comfort in the honesty of the answer.  It was paradoxical, that this man had lied to him from the beginning, yet the discussions they had shared felt almost brutally honest.  It had unnerved him, during those times, to be the focus of the doctor’s completely unvarnished evaluations of his behavior and thoughts, but it had also made the topics easier for him to understand.  John spoke to him in a similar way, albeit less colorfully, and it helped.  It helped greatly.  Mycroft never had effective communication skills.   There were always layers of meanings to everything he said, sometimes meanings that appeared contradictory or irrelevant, although nothing was ever irrelevant in his brother’s words or actions.

      “You then placed your subterfuge in jeopardy by agreeing to assist with Lestrade’s care.”

      “My biggest mistake.  Sort of.  Not really.  I’ve made LOTS of mistakes bigger than that one and, looking back, if I _had_ to have everything go to shit, I’d rather it be when I was helping Greg get his legs back under him and wrapped around Mycroft in the process.  I tried to stay out of it, though.  John and Mycie had to twist my arm to get me to throw in and if John hadn’t called me in at the get-go, I can’t say I would have volunteered.  I’d have poked my nose in to ask what was up, kept my eye on things when John wasn’t looking… but formally get on board?  Probably not.  I know I sound like a broken record but, the very last thing I fucking wanted to do was bring you two any more pain and staying under wraps seemed the best way to do that.  You had a good life, one that didn’t need me.  Now… I don’t know what _now_ means.  That’s for you and Mycroft to decide and like I said to him – whatever you two say goes.  You decide you want me gone and I’m gone.  You want me here and I’m here.  You want something in between and we’ll hammer out the specifics.”

But Sherlock had no idea what he wanted.  He didn’t see any of those choices making a terrible difference in his life, however, he also had nothing to use as a framework for analysis.  Perhaps if he remembered Sherrinford.  Remembered him in his life so he could assess presence versus absence, but he did not.

      “What would you do if you remained in London and maintained our association?”

      “Whatever you want.  You get to set the limits.  Personally, I’d like to make up for lost time.  Put you in a cute little outfit with a bear on the front and plop you in a stroller for a cruise around the park.”

      “Foolishness.  Was this why Mummy objected to you?  Neither Mycroft nor myself are foolish and we were not treated in such a manner.”

Now and then, Sherlock realized the impact of his words without being told.  That Christmas with Molly, with John when they investigated Baskerville… he did not need explanation for what he had done.  Here was another example because not even he could mistake the pain in his brother’s eyes for anything other than pure misery.

      “Probably.  Mummy was an intelligent, ambitious woman who lucked out and married into a family that actually appreciated that in a woman.  She was Father’s equal in a lot of ways and I think it chafed that he had the final word on things, even when she was as smart as he was.  But she still had what she wanted – money, power, a chance to actually do something with her life.  Then when I came along, I put a big smudge on that pretty picture.  I wasn’t the nice, cultured boy she wanted.  I mean, the other kids of our social circle weren’t examples of perfection by any stretch of the imagination, but they weren’t so… common… about it, I guess.  Didn’t do the crazy shit I did.  They were more like some little black sheep out of a Merchant-Ivory film than a dumb fuck from _Animal House_.  Which was me.  Who in her position wants a kid like me?  And the more she tried to press me into some mold that would make her happy, the more trouble I’d cause just to show her how little control she had over me.  Mycroft… whole different ballgame.  Perfect son.  Well, almost.  What wasn’t perfect I knocked myself out fixing and he didn’t have that asshole streak that I do, so he actually listened.    And as insane as it was, Mummy just wouldn’t do the smart thing and let him move to the head of the line.  I think she saw it as her failing or, worse, me winning.  And I’m not blameless here; I could have cleaned up my act.  Straighten up and fly right, that sort of thing.  But I didn’t.  I was old enough to make that decision and didn’t because I was as mule-headed as she was.  I’m glad you and Mycroft had it easier, though.  I really and truly am.  I’m sure it wasn’t happy happy fun time, but at least you weren’t getting screamed at after everyone else was asleep most nights of the week.”

No, they weren’t.  Actually, Sherlock saw far more of Mycroft than he did of his parents, but what time they did spend together was at least cordial.  For the most part.  And for that, he would consider himself fortunate.  Mycroft tried to direct his life in the most meddlesome and infuriating ways, but he never actually tried to reshape who he was.  He simply tried to _contain_ who he was in a more manageable package.

Sherlock stared at his brother and still could not make any decisions on how to proceed.  John… he needed John.  He needed to lay out the facts and let John help him understand what they meant.  His mind needed the spark that sometimes only his partner could provide.  There was one thing, however, he could state with some certainty.

      “I would, for now, ask that you remain available for further discussion on the matter.  I am unclear at this point if I have sufficient data to make a properly informed decision about the future and your place in it.”

Some of the sadness bled out of Sherrinford’s eyes and Sherlock was proud that he both noticed and felt his own relief because of it.

      “I can do that.  Mycroft asked me to stick around, so I can bunk here tonight, at least, and make myself available.  It would probably make John happier anyway so he can keep pretending he cares if I live or die from this scratch.”

      “Your wound is far more significant than you describe.  Failure to seek proper care is, again, foolishness.”

      “You’re right and I admit that a lot of my trying to beat-feet was to avoid this very sticky situation.  Get too tired or too drunk or too stoned and something might slip.   And it did, oh lucky me…  I know it’s bad, Sherlock.  Very bad, actually.  And, no, I haven’t taken proper care of it and if I become septic and croak it’s no one’s fault but mine.  Hurts, too.  Now, at least I can actually take a little more pain relief… But it doesn’t matter.  I don’t care how bad it hurts or messed up I am because it kept Mycroft from getting something worse.  I wasn’t about to let anyone hurt my little brother, even if it meant I took that blade right in the heart.  As it was… fucking old body.  Let me tell you, it wasn’t so many years ago that I could have taken on that whole room single-handed and not left a man standing.  Now, I have to settle for 85-90% on the floor holding their nuts in their hands.  It’s a sad, sad thing.”

      “I still think you are a ridiculous creature.”

      “That’s because you’re not an idiot.  For that, at least.  This _is_ me, Sherlock.  Even if I grew up over here and carried on as Mummy and Father wanted, this would still be me.  That’s something you’ll have to think about because who I am isn’t someone everyone can take for long.  I’ll be honest, though… being here with you guys has been something special.  John and Greg can handle my nonsense and Arthur… well, Arthur thinks everyone is great.”

      “No, he thinks everyone is brilliant.”

      “Ha!  You’re right.  It’s just my blood that look at me cross-eyed and I can understand that.  So you give it some thought.  Talk to John and let him in on your thinking.  I’ll be here to answer any questions and even when I’m back at my apartment, I’m available to you whenever you want to talk.  Mycroft hasn’t forbidden me from staying on to take care of his honey-bunny, which means I’ll be around this dump anyway.  Now, we done here?   I have to pee and you look like you’re full to the brim.  Though not with pee.”

That was an accurate assessment.  He _did_ feel full to the brim.  There was still no suite of feelings he could positively identify for this experience, but he didn’t feel as empty and hollow as he had prior to talking to Sherrinford.  There was information in that space now and he was comfortable with information.  Facts, data… items he could actually process and analyze.  And he had access to the source for more as he required it.  For now, it was sufficient.

      “I am finished with this particular interview.  I do not believe there is any more I can learn or evaluate at this point.”

      “Ok, makes sense.  Mouth is full, so you need to chew and swallow before you can have another bite.  Anytime, Sherlock… come talk to me anytime about anything.  I’ll be more than happy to fill in any leftover blanks.  Want to give me a hand?  I think if I pull my stitches out again, John will go ahead and finish what the asshole at that breakfast started and Mycroft will be pissed if he’s got to pay to get blood out of his rug.”

      “He does place a premium on the pretenses of appearance.”

      “It helps.  Want people to think you’re a big fussypants, you need to surround yourself with lots of fussypantsness.  You should know the fundamentals of disguise by now.”

      “The difference is that Mycroft _is_ fussy.”

      “You can’t be a fussypants and kick ass like he did in that fight.  Or be a sexual dynamo, taking down the bachelors of London one by one.  Really, I could cry I’m so proud of him.”

      “This conversation has now turned towards a direction I dislike intensely.”

      “Seriously, you want pointers, me and Mycroft are primed and ready to help.  John will thank you.  And us.”

      “This will weigh against you in my analyses.”

      “Boo hoo.  Now help me up and I’ll promise to tell you one of John’s fantasies about you.”

      “Does that mean a sexual fantasy?”

      “It might.”

      “Take my arm and do not over-exert yourself.”

      “Smart boy.”

__________

John wasn’t sure if he should leave Mycroft alone with his brother because neither of them was ready for a full-on battle at this point, but it had to come sometime, so it might as well be when they were both too injured to really take a good swing at anyone.  And with both of them occupied, he could sneak in and check on the one member of the group he hadn’t taken stock of yet _and_ was more injured than anyone else.

      “Greg, good to find you still here.”

      “You’re never funny, John.  How’s Sherlock?”

      “He’s… a big blank wall.  Completely shut down, which could be a good _or_ a bad thing.  And Mycroft?  He at least looked fairly calm when he popped in for his turn at Sam.”

      “He’s Mycroft.  Who really knows what’s going on inside his head, but this absolutely kicked him in the gut, that much I know.  It took him forever just to be able to _talk_.  I hope that he gets the answers he wants or I’m not sure what’s going to happen to him in the long term.”

      “I do, too.  I had my own talk with that fake American bastard and… well, he’s not holding anything back as far as I can tell.  Of course, with a Holmes, that doesn’t mean anything, but I did get the impression that he wants everything out in the open now that his cover’s been blown.”

      “Learn anything juicy?”

Juicy was the word for it and John gladly provided all the details for Lestrade’s enjoyment.

      “Well, I have to give the man points for showing up at the right time.  You were a bloody mess, John.  If Sam had to choose a time to walk back into Sherlock and Mycroft’s life that was a smart one.  But… any idea why he left in the first place?”

      “No, he wouldn’t give that up.  Said he had to talk to Mycroft first, which is what I assume they’re doing right now.  Then, hopefully, it’ll be Sherlock’s turn.  I mean, Sam has a point… Sherlock was just a little tyke when he left and even _he_ said he doesn’t remember his oldest brother.  Mycroft does though, that much is obvious.”

      “And it killed him when Sam vanished.  That much I _did_ get out of him.  It absolutely devastated him, John. Took him a long time to get over it, too, and… well, if you think about some of the things he does, some of the ways he behaves… things start to make sense.”

      “You’re right, now that I think about it.  I does explain a lot of things…  So, what are we going to do?  To help them, I mean.  I don’t even know where to begin for this.”

Lestrade didn’t have a clear idea, but he had one thing on his mind and the man to give him a hand with it was now on scene.

      “Just be there.  Be there to listen or just be a reminder that they have someone who cares and is there when they _do_ want to talk.  And… I need you to help me with something.  I can barely move with all this crap attached to me, well, I can barely move even without it, but this makes it worse.  I had a hard time doing anything to support Mycroft, physically I mean, and that has to change.”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “All of it.  Every tube, wire… I want it all gone.”

      “Uh… no.  You suffered two traumautic injuries only days apart and… you’ve barely had any time to heal.  You can’t even say it’s been _weeks_ since you were on the operating table since we haven’t even reached the point of using the plural quite yet.  I’m not ready to…”

      “But _I_ am.  I _am_ , John. More than ready.  Mycroft needs me to do more than smile nicely at him. He needs someone right now who can treat him properly.”

      “What do you plan on doing?  Give him a shag in your hospital bed?”

      “No, but maybe something… something to remind him that someone loves him and wants to do everything they can to support him.  And I can’t do that with all this crap attached to me!”

      “You’re insane and, as your doctor…”

      “I’ve looked it up, you know.  Lots of information on the Internet to find when you’ve got nothing but time on your hands.”

      “Oh goodie, another person who pops onto WebMD and thinks they’ve got their medical license.”

      “Bastard.  But I’m not stupid, you know.  I can read and I know, I _know_ , you’ve been holding back.  Taking it slow and being careful.”

      “Because it’s the right thing to do!”

      “Because you’re scared!”

That was not what Lestrade had planned to say, but now that the words were out, he refused to take them back.

      “I am _not_ scared.  I’m trying to make sure you’re not back in an ambulance.”

      “You’re scared because you think you made the wrong call in Fitton and now you’re treating me like a piece of glass.  Sam’s the one that pushed for me to start sitting up and doing exercises, not you.  And that’s gone well.  Painful, but well.  And I bet that if I ask him, he’ll say that it’s time to get this off of and out of me and… maybe get me on my feet.”

      “You’ve lost your mind, Greg.  Really gone mental.”

      “No, I haven’t.  I’m not saying I’m ready to go for a run, but I bet I can shamble the few steps to the loo if I have some help.  And hold Mycroft a bit better than I tried to do a little while ago, when I was worried about all this stuff hanging off me.  Yeah, it hurt when he moved around and did something too fast or hard, but it wasn’t deadly.  I need to do this, John.  For Mycroft _and_ for me.  Now is as good a time as any, so I’m asking you to do it.  I _want_ you to do this, John and if you can’t give me any real medical reason why you shouldn’t, then get started.”

John glared at his patient and wanted to punch him right in his sewn-together chest.  Scared?  That was crazy… he wasn’t scared.  He _wasn’t_ scared.  He was cautious.  Prudent.  Maybe he could be more aggressive in his treatment, set a more rigorous timetable… maybe some patients were ready at this point to be allowed to take a few steps to help get their body moving and bolster their confidence.  But some patients were not _all_ patients and how many had been through what Greg had been through?  Of course, the old bastard’s progress _was_ going very well.  And he _had_ done a good job with the exercises they’d started him on.   True, there were _two_ doctors watching over him and the houseful of people to keep a watchful eye that he didn’t have a problem.  Yes, the loo _was_ only a few steps away and the mood lift it would give his patient to have that bit of independence would be extremely valuable.  But he wasn’t scared.  If he was scared, he wouldn’t be preparing to throw his concerns to the wind and give Greg what he wanted.

      “You have to promise me, a real promise that’s not the kind Sherlock gives when he just wants you to hurry along with things, that if you feel anything wrong…yes I know that’s stupid to say when you’ll probably hurt and feel like your legs are noodles… but if you do you’ll tell me _immediately_.  And that has to be a lasting promise.  If I agree, you have to absolutely promise that you will bring up everything, you will keep me informed of everything, you will answer every question honestly and if I think this is going to hell, you will let me do what I have to so you get back on track.  Is that understood?”

      “Fine.  Yes to all of it.  Now get started.”

      “I’m serious, Greg.”

      “So am I.  I don’t want to die, John.  I don’t want to ruin my chances of getting back on the job.  If there’s a problem, I’ll tell you.  Now, would you quit stalling and do your job.  I want to be free when Mycroft gets back and there’s no telling when that will be.”

      “With Sam’s mouth, it could be awhile.”

      “Then that’ll give me time to practice my dance moves.”

      “I will kill you twice.”

      “You’ll have to catch me first.”

__________

It all sounded so easy until John began getting him disentangled from all the nonsense and he started the big test.  Sounded so, so easy… sit up, swing legs onto floor, stand up, take a few steps then back to bed.  Sit up – pain, but he was getting used to that one.  Swing legs – legs didn’t exactly want to swing and needed a little coaxing and the whole business made his chest hurt even more.  Stand up – well, wasn’t that an ugly experience.  His legs _were_ noodles and holding onto John for support required muscles that were connected to his chest which made it hurt like someone shoved a burning bush right into his incisions.  And, when he got some degree of confidence he could start walking, he found that _every_ muscle in his body seemed to connect to his chest and now that burning bush was being joined by an army of spear-wielding rats who were chewing on him to boot.

      “Ok?”

      “Fine.  Never better.”

      “You lie for shit.  I’m going to raise your pain medication again for a little while, but it’s going to be in pill form now, so it won’t be quite as consistent as with your IV.  Can you try another step or two?”

If he wanted to shame himself, sure.  But since it was only John in the room, shame didn’t really count, so one very slow step was taken, followed by a shaky second.  And now it was getting hard to breathe since his chest was trying to tear itself off of his body and run away to hide in a quiet, dark corner.

      “Well, you’re doing better than I thought you would, so well done you.  But you’re looking stressed, so how about we get you back to bed.”

      “Couple more steps.”

      “Not too much, Greg.  Do _not_ push yourself too hard or you’ll do more harm than good.”

And it felt like that line was drawn about one cock’s length from the end of his feet.  Maybe a strategic retreat wasn’t a bad idea.

      “Ok… but a few more next time?”

      “We can try.  This is more than enough for now, though.”

      “Can you… I don’t really want to ask this but will you help me get cleaned up?  Find me something fresh to wear, too?”

      “Prettying yourself up for your date?”

      “I can’t find myself disagreeing with that.  Help pretty me up, John.  You’re the best with lipstick in the whole house.”

      “I do pride myself on getting the outline all clean and symmetrical.”

      “And we all envy you for it.”

__________

John grudgingly admitted that Lestrade made it through his fledgling steps with a passing grade and, therefore, didn’t give him any further evil eyes as he helped his friend get a wash, but then it was the fight over clothes.

      “It’s too much of a temptation, Greg.  No.”

      “Fuck you.  I want my robe.”

      “You can have your robe, but you’re getting something to go with it.  Like clothes.”

      “Not tonight.  Robe and then nothing but skin.”

      “No.  That is absolutely not on the menu.”

      “John…”

      “Greg, you are still one fall-off-the-bed from death’s door!”

      “Then I won’t fall off the bed.  Robe.  At least for tonight.  Tomorrow I want my normal sleeping wear.”

      “Decade-old stained boxers?”

      “Pure heaven.”

      “Promise me you won’t do anything crazy.”

      “I promise not to do anything crazy.”

      “Are you lying?”

      “Only a little.  But answer me this… who is the most protective of me in this entire house and is that the person who’ll be with me tonight?”

He did have a point and John just shook his head at Lestrade’s triumphant grin.

      “Ok, that’s not a bad argument.  One robe coming up.  You will not, however, share with me any details of your robed or robeless activities unless something is bleeding or has dropped off and you can’t figure out how to reattach it.”

      “Ha ha ha.  You’re still not a comedian.  Give me my sexy robe.”

John let a rude gesture stand as his response and grabbed a robe out of the closet, getting it around Lestrade’s shoulders while loudly ignoring the nakedness it was attempting to cover.

      “You’re the worst doctor on the planet.”

      “And since you’re the worst patient, it’s all balanced.”

      “Has Gregory been problematic, John?”

The two men looked towards the door to see Mycroft peering around the edge as if he was unsure what he was interrupting and was hesitant to move forward.

      “Only as much as Sherlock in a sulk.”

      “But I took my very first steps, Dad!  Aren’t you proud of me?”

It hurt to laugh, but Lestrade couldn’t stop himself seeing Mycroft’s widened eyes and John’s own giggles helped fuel his fire.

      “I am assuming that is a jest.”

      “Not at all.  This one decided he was stepping out for a pint and only got three steps along before he had to stop and sweat a moment.”

      “John… was that wise?”

Mycroft moved further into the room, drawn, he felt certain, by his lover’s bright, thought slightly fatigued grin.

      “Oh who knows?  But he would have done it with or without me, so I didn’t have much choice.  But he did it and tomorrow we can see if he can manage a few more.  Now, I think I’ll leave you two alone and see how Sherlock’s doing.  Try and behave, ok?”

      “My behavior is always beyond reproach.  However, you might have some wait for Sherlock as he was lying in wait in the sitting room for his chance at discussion when I bid goodnight to Sherrinford.  Silly boy allowing light behind his back so his shadow was visible…”

Ok, so Sherlock was getting his own emotional beating.  John reasoned he had time for a shower and his own prettying up so he could follow the DI’s model to provide whatever form of comfort his partner might need in the aftermath.

      “Well then, I’ll have a little time to myself to wipe the thought of this one’s horrid old body out of my head.”

      “You are jealous of my muscular physique, John Watson.  Jealousy drips off you like honey off a spoon.”

      “You’re confusing jealousy with revulsion.  I’ll schedule you a brain scan.  Damn, and we just had the machine here… oh, why couldn’t you have shown your dementia sooner.  See you two later.  And Greg… remember that promise.”

John left after returning the modified wave Lestrade gave him and made a quick stop by the study to get the confirmation that Sherlock was having his own much-needed conversation.  One shower, one crawl under the covers, one book to pass the time and let the rest of the night go the way it would go.  Whatever Sherlock needed, he’d be ready to give.  Luckily, the walls were nice and thick…

__________

      “Gregory, I do hope you did not do anything ill-advised.”

      “I’m fine, love.  And I don’t care about me, right now, I care about you.  How’d it go?”

Mycroft took a deep breath and let it out, relishing the fact that he and his Gregory had some time alone.

      “Acceptably, taken in sum.  The most pertinent questions were answered to my satisfaction, though… though I cannot deny that I have not fully taken in the implications of the information and evaluated how they will structure any future contact with Sherrinford.”

      “Want to talk about it?”

      “I do.  Perhaps not this very moment, however.  I would prefer to simply… may we simply share some private time?  Only a short while, but I would enjoy a small relaxation before I commence examining the bruises of this day in any further detail.”

      “I think I can accommodate that.  Do me a favor and lock the door?”

      “Pardon me?”

      “Little thing near the knob – just give it a nudge.”

      “Gregory, I do not think…”    

      “That’s why it’s my job right now.  A little privacy is exactly what we need, so let’s make sure we get it.  Go on, and then come over here.”

The wicked twitch of his lover’s lips cast a spell on his fingers and Mycroft found them locking the door despite his best judgment that John should always have immediate access in case of emergency.  He then did as he was told and stood next to Lestrade’s bed.

      “That’s my love.  Now, strip down and join me.  If you want, you can slide into those silky pyjamas you like or… well, I’ve got nothing but skin on under this robe and I don’t mind sharing, if you know what I mean.”

      “Gregory, are you advocating an intimate encounter?”

      “Lots of big words for just sharing a little warmth, a little skin, a few touches, maybe some kissing… ok, that does describe an intimate encounter, doesn’t it.  You were right.  Silly me.”

      “I do not think that is wise.”

      “Oh, but I do.  Even got John’s ok.  I just can’t fall out of the bed.  That’s one thing I did promise him.  So, get comfortable however is best for you and then crawl back in here with me.”

      “My dear, I am aware that it was distressing for you…”

      “Long as you don’t move really quick or sharp, I’m fine.  More than fine, actually, because it felt marvelous to have you here with me.  So get on with you.  I’m not waiting forever.”

His lover should not pout.  Gregory’s lips were far too lovely to pout because they made a vision that Mycroft had no ability to resist.  It was as potent as Arthur’s puppy-eyes and one non-survivable weapon in his life was quite enough. Yet here he was, unfastening the buttons of his shirt, watching his beloved enjoy every motion of his fingers.  A rush of very uncharacteristic shyness rose up and Mycroft only hoped it wasn’t coloring his skin as he drew his shirt off of his shoulders and laid it on his bed.

      “You are absolutely gorgeous, Mycroft.  I could lie here all night looking at you.”

That was not something he was used to hearing.  Of all the lovers he had taken, he did not often receive honest compliments.  But _this_ one was honest.  His Gregory’s darkening eyes stated very clearly that he was pleased with what he saw.  And it was that knowledge that pushed away his sudden attack of modesty and emboldened him to be a tad more provocative as he toed off his shoes, unbuttoned his trousers and let them slide down his long legs.

      “Mine.  All that beauty is mine.  Let me have all of it, love.  Please?  Just for a little while, at least, let me have all of you.”

There was no refusing the need in his lover’s voice and Mycroft didn’t hesitate losing the last of his clothing and very carefully taking his place in Lestrade’s bed, where he pulled the tie on Lestrade’s robe to put his Detective Inspector’s own flesh on display.

      “You might want to keep the top part covered.  It’s still not very pleasant to look at.”

Oh, on the contrary.  There was something highly erotic about the elaborate landscape of the chest he was carefully examining and now he could touch.  Not the surgical area, but around it and downwards from it.  He could touch and kiss and caress and lose himself in the feel of sliding his naked skin against his lover’s own.  As always, Gregory knew what he needed.  Knew what would soothe his soul and calm his mind.  How incongruous that the excitement his body was experiencing so easily brought the rest of his being to a very tranquil and peaceful place.

      “I find every part of you enjoyable to view, my dear.  And now I have so many more parts to gaze upon…”

Mycroft was daft.  He looked like a poorly-made quilt above the navel, especially compared to the body lying next to him.  It was perfect.   Creamy skin… so much creamy skin.  Long and lean with pockets of softness that would be making him rock hard if that was possible right now.  No question that it was the most arousing body he’d ever seen and it was attached to the most brilliant mind, caring heart and sharp wit of anyone he knew.  And now he could take his time and explore that body, which very obviously was happy to be explored.

      “I knew you’d be spectacular.  I’ve pictured you a thousand times in my head and none of those images comes close to how sexy you actually are.  Now come here and give me the kiss I’ve been waiting for.  Take it slow and I bet you can get a very pleasing percentage of me underneath you while you do it.”

Was it wrong to become fully erect when one’s lover was so grievously injured?  Mycroft’s body apparently did not consider this any form of ethical problem and, with some careful repositioning, he could take his Gregory’s lips and wrap an arm around his waist, while a leg straddled the Detective Inspector’s own.  This allowed Lestrade to stroke Mycroft’s back and backside, which also let him encourage the man he was kissing to begin gently rocking against his hip.

      “Gregory, my dear… you do realize what will transpire if you continue with your current behavior?”

      “Realize it and want it so badly I could cry.  Now, you just let me play with that splendid arse of yours and use me any way you like so I get to watch you enjoy yourself.  I want to hear every moan and sigh, feel every bit of need and when you come I want a little taste.  Just a tiny bit on my tongue so I can add that memory to my mental toy chest to play with when I’m all alone and can at least sex you up in my mind.”

      “I do not think I can possibly refuse such a demand.”

      “No, I don’t think you can.  And that’s what makes it all the more exciting…”


	24. Chapter 24

Lestrade lay quietly and listened to the gentle rhythm of his lover’s breathing.  It was something he really hadn’t had the chance to do before and wasn’t going to miss a moment of the experience.  Actually, last night had been quite the occasion.  Getting to see and touch and hold one very naked and very eager Mycroft in his arms was mind-boggling.  Really, he was amazed he could have this right now, given all the damage his body still sported.  And he got to at least be part of the passion that left his partner spent and satisfied and so limp that is was all Mycroft could do to get them both cleaned up before crawling back into bed and falling into a deep and nearly motionless sleep.  It was perfect and it was real and it was just the beginning.  Maybe he couldn’t do much at this point for Mycroft, but he could do _something_ and that was a big improvement from his useless state and every day there’d be a little more he could offer.  A little more difference he could make and a little more he could contribute to the relationship they were building.  Step one, more sex.  That could be step two, also, because Mycroft was staggeringly gorgeous during sex.  Step three, more companionship, even if it was a push around the park in a wheelchair.  Step four, more sex.  Maybe he was becoming a little obsessive… but who cared?  Last night was something he’d been waiting on for so long…

      “Should you not be asleep, Gregory?  It is quite early and there is no reason you should be alert at this hour?”

Actually, it was Mycroft that should have taken a few more hours.  Even with John and Sam’s vigilance that Mycroft was taking care of himself, Lestrade wasn’t going to fool himself that Mycroft’s stress and worry had dropped back to its normal, already ridiculous, level.  Goal one, not that he was making another list, which would be embarrassing, but if he was, it would be to make sure that Mycroft carved out a little more time to relax, even if it was just to share a sofa, a fire and a couple of good books.

      “I’ve slept more than a newborn lately and I guess it’s starting to catch up to me.  Pretty soon I’ll be waking you up every hour with my crying, though if you just put one of those rubber nipples over a beer bottle, it’ll be easy to get me back to sleep.”

Lestrade tugged his Mycroft over a little closer and let the taller man curl around him slowly.

      “There could be merit to that argument; however, I am certain the more rest you receive the more quickly you will recover.  And that rest should not be ethanol-induced.”

      “Spoil sport.  But I _would_ rather get that extra rest because I actually did something to need it.  Sort of like last night, if you know what I mean.”

The seductive and slightly-smug grin Mycroft made at the words would have had Lestrade jumping right in to working himself into a sweat, if he’d actually been able to either jump or work at this point.  As it was, the best he could do was try to return the promise Mycroft’s grin was making with his own attempt at a sultry gaze.

      “I know very well and I am more than willing to oblige.  You are supremely arousing, my dear, and I cannot fathom how I shall subdue my urges now that I know better the touch of your body.  However, you… you did not suffer any harm, did you, my dear?”

Seductive, smug and so caring and careful that it made Lestrade’s heart ache.

      “No and I promise I’ll say if I think there’s ever a problem.  We’ve got years to have fun, so if I have to put the brakes on because something hurts that day or I’m completely exhausted, it’s not going to make me feel bad to do it.”

      “Eminently practical.  And I _shall_ hold you to that promise.  Like you, I anticipate a very long future of opportunities and shall not weep over any specific one lost to injury or illness.  Or exhaustion… we shall _both_ encounter that particular problem once you return to work.”

      “Oh yeah… those days when you’re pulling off the clothes the moment you walk in the house, fall face first onto the bed and don’t move until someone’s calling you asking where the hell you are because you’re late for work.  I’m _very_ familiar with those days, though maybe I can now squeeze in a quick shower before the face hits the mattress… and someone can help a poor tired copper wash the day off his skin in the process.”

      “I shall lay in a supply of the most excellent washcloths and soaps laden with calming scents for that specific purpose.”

      “Yes!  I knew you had your uses.”

      “Very few, but those that exist are of the most critical importance.”

      “Like sexy showers.”

      “That is at the apex of my list.”

Lestrade chuckled and began to run his hand up and down Mycroft’s arm.

      “This is good, love.  This is really, really good.”

Mycroft sighed at the contact and kicked at the dark memories that were trying to gain his attention from the corners of his mind.  So close… he had been so close to losing the Detective Inspector many times and each time it would have been entirely his fault.  For those sins, he would pay a lifetime of penance, but each gesture of expiation would somehow and very directly benefit his lover.  To that, he was thoroughly committed.  However, he would need very concrete data to structure the framework of his reparations and efforts to make their lives as joyful as possible.

      “Can you, my dear, delineate exactly the parameters of ‘this’ for my edification?”

      “No, because I don’t know what you mean.”

      “Ah.  I am… I am hoping simply to understand to which part of our current interaction you are referring.”

      “Oh!  That’s easy… me, you, laying here, talking.  Just us and nothing we’re racing out to do or anything.  Me getting to rub your arm like this and having your head on my shoulder.  Us just being quiet like this and _talking_.  Maybe it’s stupid but…”

      “No… it is not at all, as you say, stupid.  It is… extremely enjoyable.”

And comforting.  And reassuring.  And strengthening.  And clarifying.  And a hundred things that Mycroft never realized would be so utterly important to him in a relationship, until he met the love of his life.  If they spent an entire morning or evening doing nothing but this, he would be unimaginably content.  And… it was an appropriate forum, a nurturing, for lack of a better word, forum for having a discussion on matters of consequence.

      “And does ‘this’ allow for conversation on significant matters?”

      “Sure.  This is one of the best times for that because you can just focus right in and… well, it feels supportive, doesn’t it?  Having someone right there, skin on skin to talk to?”

That it did.  It was enough to make you want to bear your soul for the other person to witness.  Especially when that other person owned your soul’s other half.

      “Then might I ask the boon of doing such a thing?”

      “Absolutely… oh.  Time to talk, huh?”

      “If that is permitted.”

      “It certainly is.  Talk as long as you want, about whatever you want.  I’m not going anywhere.”

It was surely a sign of damnation to laugh at one’s gravely wounded partner, but since said partner was already laughing a small joining in could not add significantly to his years in hell.  And, the laughter helped.  It lifted something in him that made discussing such things easier.  This was not an area of strength, an area of confidence, and Mycroft was happy for any bit of ease he could receive.  

So, slowly, but with increasing vigor Mycroft let his story flow and develop, finding that the warmth and closeness of his partner made the experience far more manageable than he might have predicted.  Not at all an area of strength… which explained why, when he was finished, he felt as if he had accomplished something both arduous and significant. 

      “Ok… wow.  That’s… not what I expected.  I guess I have to ask though – do you believe it?”

Mycroft’s furrowed brow let Lestrade know that the question wasn’t what _he_ expected.

      “I am not certain I understand the question.”

      “Well, it’s like this… I can’t think of anything more tailor-made for cutting you off at the knees.  Something that would positively make you _not_ want to give him a black eye.  If I can figure that out, I bet your brother could too, so I just want to know if you think he’s telling the truth.”

A viewpoint that Mycroft had not even considered.  He would allow himself some small margin for error due to the extremely unusual circumstances, but this notion had slipped his analysis entirely.  His Gregory was correct, it _was_ the right argument.  The perfect argument.  And Sherrinford could both concoct such a tale with ludicrous ease _and_ sell his performance flawlessly, so it was a very interesting point to raise.  However, the answer was a simple one.

      “Yes.  Perhaps it is foolish to do so, but I believe that he spoke the truth.  Sherry is a consummate liar, confidence trickster, beguiler… however not with me.  The sibling jests aside, Sherrinford did _not_ lie to me, even if it would have been a kinder lie versus a harsher truth.  I feel he has enough awareness of the situation to know that if he was caught in a fabrication, the dishonesty would sever fully any hope he might have of reestablishing some form of connection with myself and Sherlock.”

      “Good, that’s good.  Now, how about that last bit?  Do you _want_ to reestablish a connection with him?  I mean, I see he had reasons and I can’t say they were bad ones.  You can’t ask for better reasons, actually, but it doesn’t change the fact that you went through bloody hell when he left and it’s obvious that it still hurts.  He’s not been there for you or Sherlock and it would be perfectly reasonable if you wanted to keep it that way.  The other side of the coin is this is your chance to have back what you lost and not everyone gets that in their lives.  I’ve watched you two, though, and I can’t miss that you don’t seem to mix, personality-wise.  He gets along with Sherlock fairly well, though, or, at least, he doesn’t send Sherlock through the ceiling like he does to you.  That’s something to consider, too.  I mean, I think it’s great he prods at you and makes you step out of your normal head.  And he can keep up with you, which isn’t something people normally can do, so you can go all out and not have to worry that you’re leaving a bunch of confused faces in your wake.”

      “You make a compelling case for both sides of the argument, my dear.  Very diplomatic of you.”

      “Hey, you can hire me!  I’ll be the one that makes sure nothing ever gets decided on because I’ll make both sides look good.  I can stall things for days and people will just forget what they are going on about and go home.”

      “Oh very good.  I shall notify Human Resources to add you to the government employment roster.  How shall we classify your position – Prolonger?”

      “Sounds like an erectile dysfunction drug.”

      “Quite right.  My mistake.  I shall devote a good bit of thought to the issue.”

Lestrade laid a kiss on the top of Mycroft’s head and nuzzled the unkempt hair that topped his brilliant and beautiful head.

      “Very conscientious of you, love.  Now, how about you tell me what you’re feeling about Sam being part of your life again?  There’s points both ways, but what would you _like_ to see happen?”

That was the question, wasn’t it?  Sherrinford was a cyclone when he was young and that had not changed a whit in the intervening years.  Above all, _that_ should have sent alarms ringing in Mycroft’s head.  No one, not even Sherlock, could spike his temper so sharply and quickly.  However, no one, not even Sherlock, could push him to escalate, to grow, to reach, to reevaluate… Sherrinford’s lessons had always been accompanied by a tremendous amount of irritation and annoyance, but they had taught him fully never to become complacent.  To never take an unseemly amount of pride in his abilities.  To seek and embrace challenge…

And there were the proverbial ‘good times,’ which were many in number.  For every hour of suffering Sherrinford’s nonsense, was an hour or more of being doted upon, inspired, reassured, praised.  Looking backwards with his adult eyes, even the ridiculous times were Sherrinford’s way of connecting, of helping him reach higher and further, teaching him alternatives to his skillset and how to successfully endure people who were different from him.  After his brother’s drunkenness, debauchery, prattle, infantile humor and fortunately rare episodes of raging volatility, any bothersome personality he subsequently encountered was a simple matter to manage.  And it taught him not to discount others quickly.  Sherrinford was a formidable individual, _extremely_ formidable, even if he presented as an inebriated clown the majority of the time.  But he did not need Sherrinford’s teachings any longer and he already had a sibling relationship that was troublesome and energy-consuming.  He had associates and a man in his life that provided the love and support he would ever need.  Further, he was building a _new_ family that actually worked properly according to the various domestic mythologies and he did not need that dynamic disturbed.  He surely did not need to suffer the unending foolishness of someone who took excessive delight in spreading chaos like pollen.  He did not _need_ Sherrinford.  Not in any manner, fashion or form… but needing was not precisely relevant to the question at hand.

      “I do not know, in truth.  As you accurately demonstrated, the lists of benefits and detriments is evenly matched and a clear victor in that contest cannot be determined.”

      “That’s why you shouldn’t be thinking with your brain.  You should be thinking with your heart.  What do you _want_?  A pros and cons list doesn’t always tell the real story; you’ve just got to listen to how you feel, too.  Maybe you’re not at that point yet, though.  It’s only been a blink of an eye he’s been quote unquote back and if you’re not sure how you feel that’s ok.  It takes time.”

Time… that is definitely what Mycroft felt he required.  Such a highly uncharacteristic need since he was very skilled at making the instantaneous decision, but this was not an example where that skill was going to be demonstrated.

      “Then time is what I must request.  I have no firm idea of what I feel at this point, Gregory.  I have not even a nebulous idea to expose for discussion.”

      “Nothing wrong with that.  I bet Sherlock’s in about the same situation.  Once Sam or whoever’s back at his own flat, then…”

      “I have asked him to remain here for the moment.”

      “Oh, ok… that’s good, too.  Get a few more chances to talk to him.  John will… well, I was going to say John would be happy he wouldn’t be left alone to care for my sorry self, but I have no idea how John’s taking this.  It can’t be easy for him, either.”

      “It is not, I suspect.  Whereas one might argue that Sherrinford’s deception of Sherlock and myself was passive in nature, it was quite active towards John and our Doctor Watson does not react well to duplicity, as we well know.”

      “That he doesn’t.  Poor John… I mean, having someone pretend to be your friend…”

      “Actually, Sherrinford does consider John a friend.  He claims he has not fabricated his enjoyment of their relationship and I have seen no sign that this is untrue.”

      “Well then… that helps a little, I suppose.  But, John still won’t be happy.  Nor will Sherlock, I’m sure.  What about Martin?  I guess he’s not really affected much by this, is he?”

      “I would doubt it, but cousin Martin has historically found ways to make situations not involving himself a source of both turmoil and disaster.  It is difficult to predict how he will be impacted by this circumstance.”

      “Yeah, you may be right.  But Arthur’ll have him sorted, I’ll wager.  That boy can take on any situation and turn it into a huge group hug within minutes.”

      “It _is_ one of his most valuable skills.”

      “So all we’ve got to do for now is let this simmer in your brain and see what soup it makes.  That’s easy enough.”

There was, unfortunately, little option, as far as Mycroft could discern.  Right now, any decision was premature and once he stated his opinion on the issues at hand, he did not want to have cause to rescind that opinion in the future.

      “Such is also my assessment.  With more information and… I must discuss this with Sherlock, though he will likely attempt to avoid the conversation at all costs.  His viewpoint is something to factor into any of my analyses.”

      “Sure, that’s important.  But don’t forget that Sherlock avoids _you_ at all costs so if he wants to maintain distance with Sam and you’d like to try and get a little closer, it won’t really affect Sherlock very much.”

      “You do make a valid point.  I shall, as they say, see how it goes and ascertain other views on the matter.  I have not asked, Gregory – your thoughts?”

Lestrade made a confused and harassed face that made Mycroft laugh and used the time to pull his scattered ideas together in one place.

      “I think it would be good for you, actually.  And Sherlock.   Breath of fresh air and all that.  And Sam’s a good sort, really.  Maybe not the kind you want coming to dinner every night because I think one of you would end up dead, but good for a visit or a night out.  Oh, and he _would_ make Christmas something special, wouldn’t he?  Sam and Arthur enlivening the holidays in their own special ways.”

Holidays… that neither helped nor hindered Mycroft’s thinking.  Christmas was a somber event in their home, with a reserved and formal meal, a quiet opening of gifts… until Sherrinford pulled him away to their rooms and the horror would commence.  Atrocious music, gifts not placed under the tree because they were not the sort of which Mummy and Father would approve, plates of biscuits and treats that the cook prepared specially both for their grotesqueness of form and nearly-lethal sugar content.  One bite of a tree-shaped biscuit threatened the eruption of an acute case of diabetes.  It was their own private celebration that bore no resemblance to the very proper observance they had endured with their family and the various friends and business associates their parents invited.  The time was loud, irreverent, tooth-decaying, not to mention waistline widening, and… special.   Ridiculous as it was, it was the part of Christmas to which he most looked forward.  All of the small, secret things he desired he would find wrapped messily in garish paper, no one glared at him if he ate biscuits or cakes… he could lose the rigidly formal garments and enjoy his new toys and games or art supplies in comfort.  And if it snowed… a long walk in the snow was a beautiful thing on the estate and he would receive his boots and coat and hat before being spirited outdoors to spend a leisurely hour or so enjoying the silence and fresh smell of new snow.  And, in complete contradiction to his inherent nature, Sherrinford never turned their walk into a snow-based battle.  That followed the next day.  Truly, Sherrinford and Arthur would make Christmas a very _exuberant_ event…

      “In that, you have my full agreement.  I do not believe Sherrinford has any immediate plans to return to the States, so it should not discomfit him greatly to wait for me to process these recent events.  And _we_ shall discuss it further, correct?  If he is to be part of my life or barred completely, the choice will affect you and I do not wish to ignore you in the decision-making process.”

Lestrade placed another kiss on Mycroft’s head and grinned widely.  Some might say that Mycroft was too old a dog to learn new tricks, but that simply was not the case.  The doubts he had been harboring about how their relationship would play out day to day were waning the more he saw Mycroft truly trying to take the necessary steps to make their relationship work.

      “I’ll be here whenever you want me to be, love, and I’m not being cheeky this time.  You want to talk, you just say so and we’ll just lock ourselves in here and talk as long as you’d like.  I’m going to need some of that myself as I get further along in this stupid recovery process, so don’t feel like you’re asking too much of me.  For instance, right now I’ll trade you a long heart-to-heart for a little help getting to the toilet.  Believe me, you’re getting the worst of the deal.”

      “That requires walking.”

      “Nothing slips past you, does it?”

      “Gregory…  that is rather a large amount of exertion.  Can I not… I am certain there is a receptacle in your supplies designed for just this eventuality.”

      “No, that will give me nightmares.  My legs do work, even if they’re a little wobbly, and I got a good four steps in yesterday.  This time I’ll get out on the side of the bed closest to the loo and I bet I can make the extra steps to get there, so long as you don’t stop to tie your shoes or something.”

      “I am not at all certain this is beneficial to your health.  Perhaps I should consult John.”

      “If you consult John, you have to leave the room just as you are.”

      “I am not wearing any clothes.”

      “That’s the deal.  You try to overrule me on a few extra steps so I can feel like I’m actually a big boy who can piss on his own and you’ll have to conference with the medical team bare-arsed naked.  I’m sure everyone will want a piece of that conversation.  Arthur will probably start another photo album.”

      “That is outright blackmail.”

      “No, it’s just an equitable agreement.  If I get humiliated, so do you.”

      “You are bringing your mightiest weapons to bear on this, aren’t you Gregory?”

      “Why bring a nail file to a knife fight?”

      “I do admire your cutthroat demeanor when you are passionate about an issue.”

      “Well, I _am_ very passionate about having to piss, so can we get going?”

      “Will you agree that if I feel you are not properly reporting your condition and overtaxing your body, I shall suffer no unclothed penalty for returning you to bed?”

      “I guess that’s fair.  But I can’t guarantee I won’t intentionally miss my piss bottle just to be a bastard.”

      “I will trust that you evince your best behavior.  It would be a terrible shame if, by some inexplicable happenstance, your lovely television was no longer able to receive any programming except ethnic folk dancing and weather broadcasts.”

      “You wouldn’t dare.”

      “Mighty weapons, my dear.”

      “I think I’ve met my match.”

      “I wholeheartedly agree.  And what a delightful thing that is…”

__________

_Skip was asleep – check.  Skip Bear and Arthur Bear still asleep – check.  Tummy rumbling for breakfast – check._

Arthur ran through his time-to-get-up checklist and slid quietly out of the bed, providing the requisite suite of kisses then quickly showered, changed and left the bedroom with a last look at his Skip, who, he hoped, was sleeping with sweet dreams in his head.  It was strange, but Skip didn’t want to talk about Doctor Sam very much.  But, if he was to really think about it, Skip didn’t like to talk about Mr. Sherlock or Mycroft very much either, so it was difficult to know if there was a problem or not.  For now, Arthur decided he would assume there wasn’t, but if there was any sign he’d made a mistake, there’d be a sit-down chat to take care of things, even if meant actually sitting down on his Skip to get him to behave and listen.  Talking was a good thing, even if Skip didn’t particularly like to talk.  Well, he did like to talk, but mostly about airplanes and flying.  He liked to listen, though, in fact Skip was a brilliant listener, but he didn’t particularly like to _talk_ about certain things.  Like his family.  Or his little problem.  Or how he worried all the time.  Or how he thought other people were better than him.  The list was actually rather long…

Tip-toeing through the house, Arthur hoped that everyone had gotten as good a night’s sleep as he had and were still comfy and cozy in their warm beds.  With all of the silliness with Doctor Sam, he’d nearly completely forgotten about his dad and their phone call, so when _he_ went to bed last night, his brain was clear and happy and filled with little Skip pictures from when he kissed Skip goodnight and held him close until he finally heard his fiancé making the small whistling noises he made when he fell asleep.  But he had to admit he doubted everyone had as wonderful a night as him.  It must have been very hard for Mycroft and Mr. Sherlock and Doctor Watson and poor Doctor Sam to sleep what with all of the brain-spinning things that had been going on.  Oh, and he couldn’t forget Greg, because he would have to try and help Mycroft get a happy, snuggly sleep and that mean lullabies and cuddles and all sorts of things he might find it difficult to do, so he’d feel bad and that would be another person who had a poor night’s sleep.  In fact, he really might be the only one that slept well and that made him feel a bit selfish, so there would be a very large and _very_ tasty breakfast waiting for everyone so he didn’t feel selfish anymore.

      “Doctor Sam!  Why are you out of bed?”

Pushing open the kitchen door didn’t bring him the empty kitchen he’d expected and  of all the people who shouldn’t be awake and making coffee, Doctor Sam was at the top of the list!  Or Greg, but he wasn’t really able to get out of his bed, so if he was in the kitchen it would have to be a ghost and thinking about that was enough to make Arthur cry, so no more thinking about Ghost Greg until it was Halloween and that could be his costume.

      “My favorite nurse in all of London!  How you doing, Arthur?  Want some coffee?”

      “Yes, please.  I can pour it, though.  You really shouldn’t be walking around or you’ll start to leak again.”

      “Nah, I think I’ll be ok.  I mean, you did the stitches and that last incident proved you sew some bitchin’ stitches.  Anyway, I’m not really tired and lying in bed isn’t a lot of fun when there isn’t someone lying there with you.  Preferably in some position that still doesn’t let you sleep, but at least makes staying awake a lot more fun.  So, have a seat and I’ll be the waiter this morning.  Even make you breakfast, just like I would do to anyone I’d shared a position-filled evening with.”

      “No!  I’ve got to make breakfast since I got lots of sleep last night and I don’t think the others may have had as nice a sleep as me.  Plus, I really, really like making breakfast.”

Sam just shook his head and smiled, setting a cup of coffee down in front of Arthur.

      “Well, enjoy your coffee first.  No use rattling pans when you’re half awake and wind up mixing blackberry jelly into the bacon.”

      “That would be horrible!  It’s the wrong color!  Now, strawberry jam and bacon is quite nice and looks so pretty, especially if you have a little bit of kale or chard next to it, so you’ve got red and green food on the same plate.”

      “Very well thought out, just like one of those professional food stylists.  You don’t feel like working in the air anymore, you’ve got a huge choice of other careers you could follow between being a nurse, a detective’s assistant, a chef…  not everyone can say that – you should be proud.”

Sam kept his very sincere face in place as Arthur beamed with pleasure.  One mental note was made to check out the other members of Arthur’s family and friends.  No one that wasn’t completely on Arthur’s side should be within a hundred feet of this kid and that meant some interesting things, possibly for a certain Gordon Shappey.

      “I am!  Since I met Mr. Sherlock, I’ve found all sorts of things I can do and they’re useful things not just being able to balance a spoon on my nose.”

      “You can do that?”

      “No, not really.  But I’m better at it than Skip.  He nearly put his eye out when he tried!”

      “Well, it is a natural talent  - you have it or you don’t.  Now, besides breakfast, what are your plans for the day?  I hope it’s not hanging with the old farts around here.  You and that sweetie-pie of yours should be out there doing something fun and potentially arrestable.  Do a helicopter tour of the city or catch a show.  Run naked through Parliament.  Mycroft can arrange any of that if you’d like.  He’d probably trip over himself getting to his phone to get you set up.”

      “Helicopter!  Oh, I’ve always wanted to ride in one of those!  Do you think he could?  I mean his head’s still not quite right and all the helicopters might be busy right now and…”

      “Be serious, Arthur.  Is there anything you really think Mycroft can’t do, even with a beat-up skull?”

Arthur’s face scrunched tightly with the intensity of his thinking and Sam just hoped he didn’t give himself a stroke.

      “No, no there really isn’t.  Even if he was in Greg’s condition, he could still probably do everything he wanted to do and rule London at the same time.  It must be very strange knowing you can do anything you want to.  I mean if he wanted to, he could play soldiers with real soldiers and that must be very tempting.  It would be for me, especially since I could make them breakfast and lunch and be part of the game myself.  And ride in a helicopter.”

      “Mycroft was never one for playing soldiers, Arthur.  At least not how you played with them, probably.  He’d set them up on maps and reenact historical battles, writing down all the stupid things the losing side did and how they could have won if they only hadn’t been, well, stupid.”

      “Oh, I can believe that!  Mycroft said he very much liked history when he was small.  He actually wanted to study history and maybe write about it when he got older.  He looked very happy talking about that, actually, when we had a chat about it.”

Arthur wondered if he shouldn’t have said that because the doctor’s face lost its smile and his eyes got that particular look that people’s eyes got when they were sad, even if they didn’t want you to know they were sad.

      “He _did_ love history.  We’d spend hours in bookstores looking for new things for him to read and watching programs about historical events.  Half the time he read with a pencil in his hand, too, sketching what he was reading about.  In a different world, he would have been a renowned academic.  Probably head of some university where the back-biting and infighting would be child’s play for him to handle.”

      “And…”

Arthur really wasn’t sure if he should ask his question, but this was Doctor Sam.  He’d probably already know what he wanted to ask and if he didn’t, then he’d look a bit silly.

      “And is it because you left that he didn’t get to do any of that?  Not that you meant for that to happen, of course, but I have a little suspicion that it did.”

Sam drew in a deep breath and then wasted more time by taking a long sip of his coffee.  Another of Arthur’s talents – cutting to the core of a problem in the nicest and most polite way possible.

      “Yes and no.  Actually, mostly no.  Mycroft wouldn’t have gotten to do that if I left or not, most likely, unless he just picked up and kissed the family goodbye forever like I did.  His life had already been planned out, just like mine was, and history or art didn’t have any place in that grand design.  Now, maybe if I’d stayed… he might have had time to pursue that on the side.  Actually have a life with enough time for study and his art to really pursue them, but… they were never going to be his living.  Not even close.”

      “Oh… that sounds… well, that sounds very sad, actually.  Didn’t his, I mean, _your_ mum want him to do things that would make him happy?  My mum does.  When I was small, he said I could do whatever I wanted so long as it didn’t get me locked up by the police or the people at the mental hospital.  But, well, that was before she got Dad’s plane and formed MJN and then… well, I guess I sort of had to start working for her because how else would we have our airdot!  But I don’t mind because it’s BRILLIANT and I can’t think of anything else I would ever want to do.”

      “Happy didn’t count for much when we were kids, Arthur.  Duty, responsibility, obligation… no room for being who you wanted to be.  No room at all.”

Arthur fiddled with his coffee and thought about how terrible that was.  Even after they started MJN he probably _could_ have done something else because Mum wouldn’t have wanted him to be unhappy.  But being on GERTI was the best thing he could ever possibly do and it was what he wanted to be now.  But if he’d wanted something different… he could have gotten it.

      “Oh… oh, I say that a lot don’t I?  Oh, I mean.  But, oh… that’s not a very happy thing to think about.  Is that… is that why you left?  Did you want to be something else and your mum and dad weren’t going to let you?”

If only it had been that simple.  Sam hadn’t necessarily wanted to launch into this discussion again so soon after going head-to-head with Mycroft, but Arthur would most likely wear him down with very sweet and gentle prods until he gave in, so might as well get it over with now.

      “Partly.  If things had gone according to plan, all that stuff that Mycie does would have been _my_ job.”

      “You’d be in charge on London?”

      “And beyond.  Mycroft’s reach is a lot further than you might expect.  And, yeah, that would have been me instead.  Now, and be completely honest, can you see me doing that job?”

Arthur thought and thought some more.  Doctor Sam was great!  He was a lot of fun and laughed a lot and was very smart and a brilliant doctor… but he didn’t seem to take things very seriously sometimes.  And he did drink quite a lot, though he didn’t seem to be very different when he drank, but that still couldn’t be very good for someone who ruled… everything.  And he could be a bit silly, which really was brilliant, but _some_ people might not think so.  He was very, very smart and very, very brave, but… yeah, it wasn’t really good fit.  Not like him being an airline steward which was a perfect fit and why he loved his job so much.

      “I must admit I have to say no.  Not that you’re not smart enough or anything, but… well, I know how hard it is to be in charge since Mycroft left me in charge when we crashed and I only had to do it for one day and I had to be very serious and always think about how to make things work out for the best and keep an eye on Skip and Mr. Sherlock, and that’s only two people!  If I had to be in charge of more people… Mycroft does it so easily, it’s like he doesn’t even have to think about it, either.  I’m sorry, Doctor Sam, but I think you might have a bit of a problem if you had to be in charge every day the way Mycroft is.”

      “I’d suck at it, Arthur.  Suck at it royally.  No, let me take that back.  I’d do an _exceptional_ job and I’d make myself and everyone around me completely miserable in the process.  You’d find me out hanging from a tree with the crows pecking out my eyeballs.”

      “Well, no one wants that!  And what would Mycroft do if you were in charge?  If your mum and dad weren’t going to let him write his history books, that wouldn’t have left him with a job!”

      “Hit the nail right on the head!  Amazing how you understand something my parents just couldn’t comprehend no matter many arguments we had on the subject.”

      “Well, I did take a course in understanding people and I’ve found that it helps in a lot of ways.”

      “I may have to sign up for that sometime.  And, for your information, Mycroft would have been pushed into some pissy boring job that wouldn’t let him use any of his skills and that’s the dumbest thing in the world, if you ask me.”

      “Did you leave so he could have your job instead?”

Right to the core of the problem…

      “You’re on fire, Arthur!  No, sit down, it’s just a saying.  And yeah, I did.  Mycroft got to be king of the world, like he should be, I got to do what I wanted to do and everyone’s happy.”

      “Well, I must say that I understand some of that, but I don’t think Mycroft was actually happy that you left.  I suspect he was very upset by it; I know I would be if my brother left and I never saw him again.  If I even try to think about Skip leaving and I never saw him again… no, I can’t even _think_ about thinking about that and I would imagine Mycroft would feel very much the same way.”

      “I think you’re right about that and it’s not something I take pride in, kid.  And I’ve missed him so bad it physically hurts every single day I’ve been gone, but sometimes you choose your pain and missing him was better than watching him having to waste his life.  Now, I just have to hope that he sees it that way.”

      “Well, Mycroft is _very_ intelligent, so I expect that he’ll think about it with his entire brain.  I’m not sure about Mr. Sherlock, though.  He’s very intelligent, too, but he does get funny notions sometimes.  And can be rather scowly, so he might need more time to be nice to you.  Not that ‘nice’ is really the word to use for Mr. Sherlock, but he really _is_ nice, he just doesn’t show his niceness in a very nice way sometimes.”

      “He can have as much time as he wants.  Mycroft, too.  I don’t expect anything of them, Arthur.  They’ve got their own lives and tossing me in the middle of them isn’t going to bring them any prizes.  But, Mycroft did ask me to stick around a little so we could talk some more and I figure I’ll spend another day here, at least, to see how things go.  I need to get home at some point, though.  I am absolutely sick of wearing Mycroft’s pompous clothes.  Even his casual wear has an accent a documentary would die for.”

      “Mycroft does dress very nicely, though I’m not sure what he’s going to wear when Greg takes him to a match or they go for a nice picnic and a swim.  I think someone might have to take him to the shops to find something to wear.”

Sam got a grin on his face that Arthur was learning mean very silly things on the horizon.

      “Arthur, I will pay you a full $3.18 if you make my little brother go clothes shopping with you and video the whole thing.  Seriously, good American cash right into your pocket.”

      “Well, I’ll certainly try!  I mean, I do have a good eye for color and such, so it’d be great to help Mycroft find something to wear for when they do things Greg likes.  Oh, but someone will have to get Greg some clothes, too, since I don’t think he has much in the way of nice suits like Mycroft does.”

      “You take care of Mycroft and I’ll take care of Gregster.  I can have him dressed in clothes to wear to a coronation so fast it would break the sound barrier.”

And piss off his little brother to no end, because there was no mistaking the look of absolute jealousy on Mycroft’s face when he caught sight of the suit Sam had worn to the cocktail party.  He’d make Greg look like a million bucks and Mycroft would be torn this way and that by envy and lust and that would be a show he would _not_ want to miss.

      “Brilliant!  As soon as Greg’s well and can go and do things we can have a big shopping party and they can get all sorts of new clothes!  You _will_ be here for that, won’t you?  I mean, I guess you could come back from America for our party, in fact, we could even fly you back here since we have a plane.  But, it would be nicer if you were actually here, instead.  Maybe not _here_ here, but here.     You will, right?”

Something he’d find out about sooner than later, hopefully.

      “We’ll see what we’ll see, Arthur.  No promises, ok?  But how about you and Martin?  You’ve got to get back to Fitton sometime soon, don’t you, or are you planning to stay on as  Mycroft’s personal chef?”

      “No, though that would be completely Skip Brilliant! and almost more fun that I can imagine, which is saying a lot because I can imagine a great deal of fun!  We _do_ have to go back at some point because Mum can’t stay in Greece forever and Skip wouldn’t be very happy if he wasn’t going to be captain of GERTI anymore, though I don’t think Douglas would mind if he got to be captain and is probably very happy getting a little holiday from work that’s begin paid for.  Now that I think of it, that is something Douglas would be _very_ happy to have.  I just… I just want to stay a little longer and see how things are for Greg.  And now for Mr. Sherlock and Mycroft and you and Doctor Watson.  Everyone’s a bit flibbitygibbet right now and we can’t go until that passes.  That would be… well, it would be irresponsible!  And besides, Skip and I haven’t done all the things we want to do in London yet.”

      “Very wise.  Sounds like a well-thought-out plan.   Now, can I pour you some more coffee?  Gotta fuel up if you’re going to be putting grub on the table.”

      “I’ll get it!  You shouldn’t be getting up and down like that even with my super strong stitches.  And it can’t feel very nice, either.”

Actually, it hurt like a visit from the tax man, because Sam wasn’t ready to take a full dose of good pain pills since he absolutely didn’t want his loopy head to get him a shaved head and into a ballerina costume, which John would do without a second thought, teeny tiny piece of shit.  And Arthur would videotape it.

      “It’s a little stingy, but I can manage.  It’s not the first time I’ve gotten a kicked-nut pain of a cut.  When I can bend over easily, I’ll show you the scar I have on my calf.  That was from jumping through a closed 2nd story window after the husband of the young lady I was _visiting_ came home unexpectedly.  I would have stayed to apologize, but the baseball bat in his hand made me think otherwise.”

      “Oh, that sounds rather like a _naughty_ visit.”

      “Just a teensy bit.  Now, what do you want in your coffee?  I’ll get that going while you start on food, how’s that sound?”

      “Brilliant!  I’ll get the oil heating for my Fried Noodle Doughnuts, because that can take a long time and start peeling the potatoes and courgettes.”

      “Bacon.  Do not forget the bacon or I’ll rip these stitches out myself and use the thread to strangle my lovely, long neck until I’m dead..”

      “No!  Ah hah – you’re having me on!”

      “Again, just a teensy bit.  Meat though, Arthur.  Red-blooded American men need their meat.”

      “But you’re not really American.”

      “Crap.  Ok, if there’s no bacon, I’ll survive, but I swear that if you put crumpets or kippers on the table, we’re going to be discussing strangulation again.”

      “Well, I don’t want that!  Besides I’m not fond of kippers, though I very much like the name.  It sounds like a name you’d give to a cute little doggie with a very waggy tail.”

      “And then you’d have Skip and Kip in the house and I have a feeling that would just thrill you to no end.”    

“SKIP AND KIP!  Doctor Sam, you are the smartest man ever!  Once we get out little house, Skip and I can get a dog or another dog if Mum lets Snoopadoop come and live with us and we’re going to name it Kip and when we’re floating on our rafts, little Kip can ride, too.”

      “Rafts?”

      “Oh, it’s going to be wonderful…”

Arthur launched into his description of swimming pool life at his little house and Sam had to marvel that someone so joyful and decent could in any way get mixed up with his family.  But he was not, not for a moment, going to look that particular gift horse in the mouth…


	25. Chapter 25

Over Arthur’s very vocal and verbose objections, Sam shambled out of the kitchen to give the call to breakfast.  He stopped first at Sherlock and John’s room, but heard sounds that were very familiar though he hadn’t made them himself in quite some time, and decided breakfast wasn’t the most important thing on their minds now.  So, it was a detour to his other brother’s room and he was not entirely pleased to find that the door was locked.

      “What the fuck?  If you two are going at it I am going to be pissed because I’ll be the only goddam Holmes not getting any this morning and I did _not_ sign up for that!”

      “We _are_ so go away, you b…bastard!”

Actually, the fact that his patient sounded greatly out of breath almost convinced Sam that his fate as a celibate was sealed, but he remembered that Greg’s partner was Mycroft, who was insanely overcautious.

      “Lying sack of shit!”

      “Gregory, do not tire yourself further!”

That was a very good raspberry for a winded man, Sam had to admit, but now he was getting a little worried about just why Mycroft would say his patient was tired.

      “Do I have to break this door down?  I will, you know.  I’ve done it plenty of times before and have the dislocated shoulders to prove it.”

The fact that he heard Mycroft’s muttered ‘buffoon’ told him that the door was about to be… and there it went. Unlocked and opened by a little brother who glared exactly as he did when he was five years old.

      “I do not believe that yelling is conducive to Gregory’s good health.”

      “Standing here feeling my insides trying to make their way onto my outsides through the big hole in my side isn’t conducive to my good health, so we’re even.  Now, come here.”

Mycroft squawked as he was pulled out of the room and tried, again, his most formidable glare on his brother, receiving precisely the same response as he had always enjoyed.

      “Oh stop it, you’re embarrassing yourself.  Now, how was it?”

Sherrinford did _not_ just leer at him.  Not if he valued the condition of his nose.

      “I have no idea to what you are referring.”

      “You lie like a cheap rug.  Locked equals cocked and I don’t mean drunk.”

      “You are simply deplorable.”

      “And you’re glowing.”

What?

      “What?”

      “Glowing.  Radiant.  The kind of shine you get when you’ve gotten yourself a little.  Finally listened to your loverboy and realized that he’s not completely incapacitated?  And it was good wasn’t it?  No matter what you got, it was good and made you so happy that you can’t contain it so it’s lighting you up like a neon sign.  God I envy you.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to explain to his brother exactly how ridiculous that was… except it wasn’t.  It _wasn’t_ ridiculous, not in the slightest.  His time with Gregory was… wondrous.  Even if he could only have lain in his lover’s arms and felt the warmth that bathed their bare skin, he would have been content.  Ecstatic, actually, because he had dreamt of it for so long.  But to take more… only a little more, perhaps, but this encounter had been far more special than their first sexual experience.  This was born not of anger, but of love and this time, he was filled with the bliss of that love rather than the former disgust from self-hate.

      “As you should.  I am a person of quality and you would need lessons to achieve even the standard of ‘marginally acceptable.’ “

      “That good, huh… Well, the invalid can’t do much more than give you a slow and sloppy handjob, since you’d be too chicken to maneuver yourself to where he could use his mouth, so Greggy dear must have talented hands.”

It was absolutely no business of Sherrinford’s that Gregory had startlingly talented hands.  Once he was well, Mycroft was exceedingly curious to learn to what heights that talent reached.

      “Don’t answer… that smile you’re trying not to make tells me everything.  Now, was that the reason he was tuckered out or is there something I should know?”

All the memories of being an open book for his brother to read at his leisure… all were flooding back at a very rapid pace.

      “Gregory made certain decisions about his health and they were taxing for him to accomplish.”

      “Wow.  That was an amazingly unhelpful answer.  Seriously, do you just _try_ and drag every conversation on so long that it just dies from old age?”

This from the man who could power a windmill from the amount of breath he wasted.

      “Very well.  Why don’t you converse with Gregory, instead?”

      “Lead on.  I have to check his vitals anyway.  They better be somewhere close to where I left them or you’re going to be sorry.”

      “I am already sorry.  You are present.”

      “That wasn’t bad.  There’s hope for you yet!”

      “Glorious…”

Mycroft pushed open the door and stepped back inside, completely unsurprised that his lover was grinning like a hyena.  An exhausted and severely over-stressed hyena.

      “Why are you unhooked, you lametastic bed potato?”

      “Because I w…wanted my freedom.”

      “And John gave the ok?”

      “I b…bullied him.”

      “I’m so proud of you right now.  Seriously, you are exceptional brother-in-law material.  Now, what, besides getting your windows washed, did you do with your newfound freedom?”

      “Took… took a piss.”

      “In an acceptable piss spot?”

      “Walked to… to the loo.”

Sam slowly turned his eyes towards Mycroft, who found himself less than eager to meet them.

      “He took a stroll for a little piss break after being in bed for the past twelve years?”

      “Gregory took a few preparatory steps with John last night and I assisted him this morning.”

      “Invalid, are you dying?”

      “No.”

      “Got anything pouring out of you that shouldn’t be?”

      “No.”

      “Anything popped, broken, torn, busted or hanging off in a vaguely frightening way?”

      “No to… to the lot.  Just a little w… winded.”

      “No, that would be a LOT winded, but it’ll just make you have to keep your mouth shut for awhile so I’m calling it a win.  I was hoping to get you up and about here soon anyway, so if you beat me by a day or two, no harm done.  But no further than the bathroom for now and only with supervision until I or John say so.  And you _will_ tell someone immediately if anything feels wrong, even if you’re not sure how to describe it.  See this?  This is my serious doctor face and you don’t fuck with that if you want to keep your legs in one piece.”

      “If this is dangerous to his condition, Sherrinford…”

      “A roll in the hay is dangerous to his condition, but you don’t want me forbidding that, do you?”

      “If it spares him harm, then I most certainly do.”

      “Sam, no!  Don’t… don’t cut me off.  B… be a mate!”

      “Would you just stay quiet until you can actually say something in one breath?  And I wouldn’t do that to you.  Bro code all the way for this, but I _will_ rethink if I catch you trying to push yourself too hard.  And ‘too hard’ is something _I_ define, so don’t think you can get cute…   Oh, you can’t talk for shit, but you’ve got the air to blow raspberries?  Guess what, no beer for you today.”

      “NO!”

      “Not a drop.  You’ve had one big treat already, anyway.”

      “Piss isn’t a tr…treat.”

      “That depends on who you talk to.  I dated this woman one time…”

      “Really, Sherrinford…”

      “Settle down, Mycroft.  I’m not okaying anything kinky, so your sex life is safely vanilla for now.  Alright sad and sickly, let me give you the once over and see what I can and can’t clear you for.”

      “May I ask if you have a firmer timeline for his recovery at this point or shall you simply respond with something crass and juvenile?”

      “Probably, but I can say that you shouldn’t start counting your chickens yet.  This is a good start, a really good start, but until he can make it to and from the can by himself without breathing hard, we’re not going to think about the future.  And that’s providing nothing weird happens.”

      “I am hesitant to ask, but kindly define ‘weird.’”

      “Would if I could, but shit happens.  Stochastic events… get my meaning.”

      “The unpredictable, by definition, defies prediction.”

      “Exactly.  Every person’s body is different, throws you its own set of curves.  And if he trips over a pair of shoes someone leaves on the floor he’s still in a position of causing himself a lot of damage.  So we’ll take things as they come, but right now he’s as far along as I want him to be in terms of dancing around.  However, give me some time and you _can_ actually have him dancing.  A little slow dance, at least.  And I’m talking vertically, so you don’t have to squeegee out your ears.”

      “Mycroft’s a b…brilliant dancer.”

      “He should be.  He had enough lessons.”

      “Sherrinford, you shall not…”

      “I’ll tell you about them while I poke and prod you.   Mycroft, why don’t you go and pull out the pictures I’m sure you still have of you getting your dance lessons.  And don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about because _I_ took them and you tried forever to steal them back from me.”

Lestrade knew Mycroft and his brother had a long way to go in fixing their relationship, if that was even what Mycroft wanted, but he couldn’t help but enjoy every moment of this.  And Mycroft wasn’t exactly looking for a dagger to thrust into his brother’s back.  In fact, some of the irritation at the doctor’s foolishness seemed to have ebbed, as if having a better understanding of the things made the crazy easier to accept.

      “At some point, I may attempt to locate the offending photographs, however, Gregory’s condition will not be improved by anything they document.  Dancing lessons… utterly miserable in every sense of the word.”

      “But you were good at it!  Even with your chubby little legs, you could really cut a rug.  Of course, you learned the most by studying me.”

      “All I would have learned from you is the most expedient way to seduce my aged dance instructor.”

      “Madame Lavelle was only in her 30’s, so if you really want to set that as your standard for aged, you’re officially pre-historic.  And she still had plenty of life in her, let me tell you.”

      “Ghastly.  You are… inexcusable.”

      “That’s why I don’t even _try_ to make excuses.  Take me as you find me or get the fuck out, that’s my philosophy.”

When they finally invented a time machine, Lestrade’s first trip was going to be to visit the Holmes house and spy on little Mycroft learning to dance.  Actually, he’d be willing to spy on little Mycroft doing anything.  It was terrifically hard to picture his lover as a little boy, but now that Sam was around, maybe he could start to form some type of image.  And speaking of pictures… he would definitely be getting his hands on each and every photo Mycroft had sooner than later.  A whole treasure trove of little Mycroft and Sherlock.  John would want a piece of that, too.

      “Actually, I believe it is _you_ who decided to get out.”

And splat.  Nice job, Mycroft.  Lestrade didn’t need to be a Holmes to see the changes on his doctor’s face; they were obvious enough even for a normal person like him to catch, which made them even more telling.  Obviously, his partner was not nearly ready to forgive.

      “Yeah.  Can’t argue that.  But it wasn’t like it could go another way.”

      “I would think that ameliorating your outlandish behavior would have been, as you say, another way to go.”

      “Again.  Can’t argue.  I never said I wasn’t a selfish kid.  I was.  Selfish and an asshole and all sorts of things that should maybe have had me in reform school.  But being a model son wasn’t going to get me the one thing that was most important and that’s the bottom line.”

      “That remains debatable, however, now is not the time for further discussion.”

      “Then why’d you bring it up?”

Mycroft didn’t answer and Lestrade wished he could know what was going on in Mycroft’s mind.  He had a very strong suspicion that his lover was more confused and off-center than he wanted anyone to know.  This wasn’t something that happened to Mycroft Holmes.  He controlled situations.  He manipulated matters to his own design.  Things didn’t happen without his knowledge or approval and none of that was happening here.  One thing he did know, though… that very cool look on Mycroft’s face meant that there was a lot of lava flowing through his veins, even if it was nicely out of sight.

      “Sam… how about some w…water.”

The doctor cut eyes down at his patient and finally gave him a little nod.

      “I’ll get you something.  Maybe a little of Arthur’s famous pineapple juice.  Remember, though, the more you drink the more you pee and you’ll only be able to manage a couple of piss breaks a day for the moment.”

Sam patted Lestrade on the leg and left the room without speaking, let alone looking at his brother.

      “I assume you wanted a moment alone, my dear.”

      “Smart man…”

Lestrade waved Mycroft over and patted the side of the bed, waiting a moment while Mycroft dithered before finally taking a seat.

      “How’s your h…head?”

      “Ah.  It is much improved.  There is far less pain and I do not have as substantial a worry about swooning like a startled maiden.”

      “G…good.  Sam may not be there to save you the next time.”

It wasn’t kind to make the cut, but Lestrade needed to push if he wanted Mycroft to say something.  If he let the middle Holmes have his way, he probably wouldn’t talk about _anything_ and that wasn’t healthy.

      “If you desire me to converse with you about Sherriford, Gregory, you need only ask.”

      “Would you answer?”

Mycroft let out a large breath and almost smiled.  How dearly he loved this man.

      “Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  And the degree of honesty might vary from event to event.”

Lestrade made a motion with his hands that Mycroft clearly recognized as ‘See!’

      “If your query is… oh, I am not going to proceed as if I am unaware of the specifics of your concern and I, in full truth, have no answer for you.  It was not a kind thing I did and I cannot lay the fault on Sherrrinford’s behavior, which was no worse than his baseline.”

      “Just p…popped out?”

      “That is not an inaccurate description.  And once committed, I simply followed the path I had paved.”

      “It hurt him.”

      “That it did.”

      “And?”

      “And I am not proud of it, but I also feel no substantial sorrow over the fact, either.”

Well, Lestrade couldn’t have expected much more, but expecting is not the same as hoping.

      “Ok.”

      “Ok?”

Lestrade shrugged as best he could and Mycroft was left with an even greater sense of confusion and… disappointment in himself.  Gregory saw him as a much better man than he really was and it hurt to demonstrate once more that he did not begin to approach that standard.

      “Do you want me to apologize?”

A back and forth shake of the head and Mycroft slumped slightly.

      “Y… you won’t mean it.”

      “True.  Or not true.  I really do not know.”

      “ _He_ w…will.”

Mycroft’s laugh wasn’t a pleasant one, but it acknowledged that Lestrade was a very astute man.

      “You are correct.  He will.  Sherrinford could always see with perfect clarity.  He could… he could _see_ your mind.  Follow exactly your personal pattern of thought and it seemed for all intents and purposes that he was clairvoyant.  Really, it was simply a phenomenally-keen ability to absorb the entirety of a person and _become_ them for a moment.  For all that I or Sherlock can accomplish, Sherry stands as the master.  If I am to give credit where it is due, it was through his guidance that I began to hone my own talents; Sherrinford was actually a very successful teacher despite his highly unorthodox methods.”

      “Helps with being a d…doctor, I bet.”

      “It stands to reason.  John has indicated that he is renowned for his diagnostic ability and that is most understandable, given the circumstances.  I find it odd that he chose that particular profession, however.  It seems…”

      “It’s an unending string of puzzles.  And the stakes are high.  Challenge for high stakes, that’s something you should easily understand, Mycroft.”

Neither man had heard Sam return or had no idea how much he had heard, but both knew he wouldn’t give anything away, regardless.

      “Oh, I thought it might have more to do with an unseemly godlike sense of power… good heavens!  Gregory, do keep your hands to yourself!”

      “Or at least use them for something other than pinching, invalid.  Mycroft, breakfast’s about ready and Arthur could use an audience.  Why don’t you hit the kitchen while I finish up here with your honey bunny.  You might bang on the baby’s door while you’re at it.  He and John should be finished working up a sweat by now.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to protest, for a sizeable number of reasons, but another pinch, soft and gentle this time, persuaded him otherwise.

      “Very well.  Gregory, I shall rejoin you shortly.  Is it permitted to bring him something for breakfast, Sherry?”

      “Gregster, you ready to start heavy-duty pooping?”

      “T…toilet’s only steps away.”

      “Yeah, but someone’s going to have to give you a hand and that’s not an easy thing, maybe, for a man to deal with.”

      “Gregory is not a fragile flower concerned with the trappings of modesty.”

      “Greg is a man with pride and having to ask someone wait to help you stand and maybe wipe your butt is a big kick to that.”

      “Was that absolutely necessary?”

      “If you’re not thinking things through completely, yes.”

      “I am not unaware of the practicalities of life, Sherrinford.”

      “Yeah, but they take on a whole new meaning when you have to face those practicalities for someone else.”

      “I am st…still here, you know.”

      ‘I do apologize, my dear.   Your decision, of course, is the only one of importance; ignore our nattering.”

      “Maybe… a little toast?”

      “Sherrinford?”

      “Good choice.  Toast or a very small bowl of oatmeal.  _Without_ Arthur’s special surprises.  You see about that, Mycie, and I’ll hang around here doing my job.”

      “I’ll only be gone a moment, Gregory.  Scream if Sherrinford is being inappropriate.”

      “Well, that’s dumb.  I’m always inappropriate – he’ll tear out his throat lining.”

      “Only a moment, my dear.”

Mycroft shot his brother a sharp look and stalked out, quietly closing the door after him.

      “Now, let’s take a better look at you.  And stop trying to give me the stink eye.  Mycroft’s terrible at it and you aren’t even as good as him.”

      “He’s up…upset.”

      “Yeah, I know.  You and he had a talk?”

Lestrade nodded and Sam moved forward to continue his examination.

      “Then you know the story.  I’d add more if I could, but I didn’t hold anything back from him.  Or Sherlock.  He shanghaied me next, so they’re both up to date.  You can ask me anything you want, though, it’s all going to boil down to I was just trying to do what was best for Mycroft and myself.  And Sherlock, too, though I know he’s sort of getting lost in the shuffle.  Maybe I did everything wrong.  Maybe I’m really just a complete piece of shit and it goes no further than that.  But, my reasons seemed good at the time and I still think they were good.  Sherlock flat out said that he hasn’t given me one thought in, well, in his life.  I suspect Mycroft hasn’t often either.”

      “I don’t agree.  He’s r…really torn up.  He was m…miserable when you left.  Terrified Sherlock w…would disappear, too.”

Sam laid a hand on Lestrade’s shoulder and pressed down lightly since the Detective Inspector’s was starting to push himself up in the bed.

      “Just calm down, Greg.  Please.  If you can’t catch your breath after those few steps, then you can’t have any more.  So just lay there and let your body congratulate itself for a job well done.  But I admit I didn’t know about the Sherlock piece, though it makes sense.  Sherlock was the apple of his eye.  I remember the day they brought Sherlock home and Mycroft got his first peek at his new brother.  You could see it… you could absolutely tell the instant he fell in love with that baby.  And he still loves him as deeply as a person can… I just wish Sherlock would let himself see that.  They mix like cats and water and I had hoped, really hoped, it would go another way.  But life is what it is, right?”

Lestrade obeyed his order to relax and just nodded his agreement.  It was a terrible shame that the brothers’ relationship was as volatile and damaged as it was, but that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.  Maybe someday, with enough time and enough people taking their turn at stitching up the rips and tears, they’d get to a better place, but that time wasn’t now.

      “Ok, I have to say that nothing looks worse than your face and since that wasn’t involved in the surgery, I’d say you’re doing ok.  Few vitals I wouldn’t be thrilled with if you’d just been laying around all day, but they’re acceptable for your marathon run to the potty.  My brother’s landed himself a big strong manly man, which is funny since he’s a wimpy little prissy boy, but I’m happy nonetheless.”

And, the thing was, Lestrade believed him.  Sam _was_ happy for Mycroft.  And he’d seen the way the doctor looked at Sherlock and John and knew he was happy for them, too.  And Martin and Arthur.  Big Brother approved and it was completely daft, but it meant something to him.  Sam was a smart man, a _very_ smart man, and if Sam approved of him and Mycroft being together, then that was just more assurance that he wasn’t seeing things wrong and trying to live a dream that really couldn’t hold because it was just all in his head.  Sam wouldn’t hesitate to say something if he thought they were headed for a crash…

      “Once you’re able to actually enjoy a honeymoon, we’ll go shopping for your tux.  Actually, we have a shopping trip ahead of us anyway.  Arthur’s going to go with Mycroft to get some normal clothes and I get to doll you up with the fancy threads.  Have to make sure each of you is prepared for whatever fun comes your way.  Mycroft’s such a nose in the air… let’s see… opera?”

      “Done that.”

      “Knew it.  If you can just talk slowly and stay relaxed, you can tell me the story of _that_ torture.”

Not that if was their finest moment, but Lestrade suddenly felt an urge to talk about that night.  It _did_ have its ups as well as downs and… a neutral party made it more of a _story_ than the start of the biggest downturn of his life, maybe even counting his divorce.  So, while Sam slowly sank in to the chair next to the bed, Lestrade began telling his tale and found each word came easier than the last, especially with Sam’s bit of running commentary.  Maybe, just maybe, he could talk about other things with his new doctor, too.  Things that… well things that he was still struggling with and probably would be for a very long time…

__________

      “Mycroft!  Hurray!  I’ve almost ready to fry the doughnuts!”

      “Oh good, I do like to arrive in a timely fashion.  And I hope it is not an intrusion on your work if I prepare for Gregory a few pieces of toast?”

      “Greg can have toast!  Brilliant!  I’ll make them!  And what does he want with his toast?  Honey, jam, butter, chocolate sauce, cheese, olive paste…”

      “Your hands are quite busy enough, dear boy.  I shall valiantly man the toaster and I believe that a tiny spot of jam might be acceptable.  Sherrinford permitted him a small amount of breakfast, with the stipulation that it be very plain.  Gregory’s stomach is not at a point where he can indulge in anything digestively challenging.”

      “Oh, I suppose that’s true.  When I’ve had a bit of tummy troubles, I can only have toast or some plain rice or pasta and he’s had a lot more go wrong that a touch of stomach upset!  But it’s good he can have something now. That means he’s getting better.”

      “And, you shall be very glad to hear, he has taken his first steps.”

The clatter of the large metal spoon onto the floor was only slightly less noticeable than Arthur’s shriek.

      “HE’S WALKING!”

      “A few steps only at this time, however, it is a very heartening improvement in his condition.” 

      “Oh… oh this is BRILLIANT!  I was so… I didn’t want to think it but…”

      “You were not entirely convinced Gregory would make this level of progress.”

      “No, I was… but yes, I wasn’t.  Oh, I don’t know, but Greg hasn’t had very good luck, has he?  I knew he’d get better because he _had_ to get better, but I really didn’t know if he’d actually _get_ better.  See what I mean?”

      “To an acceptable extent, yes.  I assure you, however, that he performed admirably and Sherrinford was not displeased by the outcome of our little adventure.”

Mycroft did not enjoy when Arthur squinted at him.  It meant something unsettling was soon to arrive on his doorstep.

      “You don’t like saying that, do you?”

      “I am unsure to what you are referring.”

      “Doctor Sam’s other name.  Or his real name, if that’s what to call it.  I mean, it’s strange how he’s been called Sam for a very long time, but Sherrinford for just a little while, but that’s his real name and not Sam.  I’m still going to call him Sam, though.  Or Sherry, because, as you know, I really do like a bit of sherry and it’s funny that Doctor Sam, who I like, is named after something I _already_ liked!”

Ah… even with twelve pots simmering on the stovetop demanding his attention, Arthur had the ability to detect the slightest perturbations in his voice or face or whatever clues the boy used to tear through his facades like a sheet of tissue paper.

      “It is a complicated issue, Arthur and I shall admit that I am not entirely comfortable with any method of reference for my brother, but I suppose I shall have to adopt some final designation and accept it, won’t I?”

      “You will.  Unless you just pick something new like Jeffrey or David.  Though he doesn’t really look like either of those.  Doctor Sam really does look like a Sam, I think.  I’m not exactly sure what a Sherrinford looks like, but I don’t think it looks like him.  I’ll have to think about Sherry, because it sounds quite lovely, but Sam is good for now.  And there’s Sammy to think about, too.”

      “Yes, the impact of the decision would have wide repercussions, even among the bear population.”

      “I’m glad you understand.  That’s one of the best things about you, Mycroft.  You always understand even when other people just pretend they do.”

Mycroft returned Arthur’s large smile before the steward retrieved his spoon, selected a clean one as a replacement and continued on with his cooking.  And, in an odd way, Mycroft _did_ understand.  Names were very interesting things… he was Mycroft and Mycroft was who he was.  It was the same for Sherlock.  But Sherrinford… he had never fit his name.  He had _hated_ his name and, if he was to be honest, with good reason because it branded him with an identity he did not want or could begin to live with any degree, he felt, of success.  Perhaps Samuel was a better fit.  In truth, it likely _was_ a better fit.  But that was not who Mycroft saw when he looked at the man’s face.  Now, knowing the truth, he could only see Sherrinford.  Who had been there all along, like the children’s game where there were animals hidden in a picture and, at first, all you saw was the picture.  Swirls of lines that had one meaning until suddenly, you caught the swirls the right way and there was, very obviously, a tiger and you had absolutely no idea how you could not have seen it immediately.  His brother was _Sherrinford_ and, for better or worse, he had to become comfortable, once again, using that name.

      “Arthur, why is my sluggardly brother attempting to use a kitchen appliance?  The last time he perpetrated any form of kitchen labor was likely when he attempted to create a skyscraper of shortbread and jam as his pre-bedtime snack.”

      “Brilliant!  That is absolutely a brilliant idea!  Mycoft, why am I hearing of this brilliant idea from Mr. Sherlock and not you?”

      “Because Sherlock is telling a tiny fib in hopes that he will present as a man with a sense of humor.  But hope springs eternal, so next time could be the charm, brother dear.”

      “And did you hear?  Greg walked!  He really walked and now he can have toast and that’s what Mycroft’s making, not that he’s actually made any toast yet, so I hope Greg’s not too hungry, but Hurray!  This is a great morning!”

Sherlock was not in the proper frame of mind to debate that assertion, and contented himself with a cup of the coffee that Arthur had waiting in the pot.  He was not entirely sure _what_ frame of mind he occupied at the moment, actually.  After he had spoken with his brother, he had returned to his room to find John waiting for him.  It had only taken one look at his John’s face and he had nearly thrown himself onto the older man, ripping away his clothing and beginning what became a long night of lovemaking, interspersed with conversation that only seemed possible due to the intimacy of the moment.  But, as he had known, John helped him process the wealth of data he’d acquired.  He had another brother and that brother was an insane, abrasive, drunken, infant of a man who was also a brilliant physician and surprisingly stalwart friend.  If he wanted nothing to do with this mosquito, that was perfectly acceptable.  If he wanted to pursue further interactions, that was also acceptable.  Apparently no decision was inappropriate and John would support him fully in any choice.  For many reasons, it had been an uplifting night.

      “I agree fully that it is morning, which makes me question why Mycroft is still here?  Have they finally sacked you for gross negligence of your duties?”

      “They can’t sack Mycroft, Mr. Sherlock.  He’s in charge, so that means he’d have to sack himself and I’m fairly sure Mycroft wouldn’t do that because for one, he’s very good at his job and for two, he wouldn’t be able to pay his bills and then what would he and Greg do!  They’d be very welcome to stay with me and Mum, but I don’t know if Mycroft could find much to do in terms of work in Fitton.  I’ll ask around just in case, though.”

      “Once again, Sherlock is attempting levity and once again, it is a sad matter to witness.  But to answer the original query, I shall be leaving shortly, however, I could not bear to depart without a nourishing meal for both myself and Gregory.  Shall John be joining us, Sherlock, or has he finally realized his grievous error in judgment and returned to your flat to toss your belongings into the bins and have the locks changed?”

      “John is showering and knows, anyway, that I can pick any lock he might have placed on the doors.  I also heard something breaking in your room, Arthur so Martin is likely to arrive soon, as well.”

      “A family breakfast… how delightful.  And are you occupied today, Sherlock, or shall you be ill-using my sofa for the duration?”

Sherlock himself into a chair and scowled at his brother with all the force he could muster.

      “I have a variety of errands to run that shall occupy most of my day.”

      “Oh!  Are they going to be fun errands?  Skip’s a bit out of sorts and I bet he would love a day of fun errands around London!”

      “You’d lose, love.  But if you’d like a fun day of errands, then by all means see if Sherlock will let you tag along.  I’d be happy with a bit of time for some quiet reading or spending some time with Greg.  He’s had to deal with this lot long enough and could probably do with a dose of normal people for awhile.”

Martin strode into the kitchen and gave Arthur a peck on the cheek, while he snuck a peek at the stove for a glimpse at the future of his breakfast.

      “Sherrinford will still be here, so unless you adjust your definition of normality, Martin, you shall find yourself sadly disappointed.”

      “That’s not nice, Mr. Sherlock.  Doctor Sam is very normal.  He drinks beer and reads magazines and everything.  You and I are going to have a little chat when we’re doing our errands.”

      “ _Our_ errands?”

      “Well, we do need to have a little chat and I always have errands I could run, so why not put the two together?  We can leave right after breakfast.”

Mycroft smiled at his brother and finally remembered to put bread in the toaster.  Martin smirked at Sherlock and poured himself a coffee, which sent Arthur scurrying to make a fresh pot.  For his part, Sherlock scowled, sipped his own coffee and began to replan his day since the visit to the morgue was officially off the list now, as were certain stops that would either severely upset the young steward or prompt far too many questions that would be far better left unasked of the people they would visit.  But one visit might be added…

      “Have you lifted the embargo on information concerning Lestrade, Mycroft?”

      “Hmmm… ah.  It has not been my highest priority to act upon, but I see no reason I cannot release the particulars to his superiors.  Well, selected particulars, perhaps.”

      “Make that your first item of business.  I would prefer less than my usual frigid welcome when Arthur and I visit Scotland Yard.”

      “Me?  I get to visit Scotland Yard.  The real Scotland Yard?”

      “Well, a pale and sickly version of its former self, but yes.  I require a case and with the news of Lestrade’s situation circulating through the corridors, I predict I will find it easier to secure one of interest.”

      “Oh bravo, Sherlock.  Using Greg’s injuries as leverage for getting a case to play with.”

      “Skip, we’re going to have a little chat, too, when I get back.  That is if I get back.  I mean I’m sure I’ll get back at some point, but if Mr. Sherlock gets a case and I can help him with it, then we could be a bit late getting home.  Mycroft, you can’t worry if that happens, alright?  Or let Greg worry.  I think I’ll have to ask you to promise since we all know what happened last time Mr. Sherlock and I went on a big case and we won’t be having _that_ again!”

      “I do promise to restrain my hand-wringing and encourage Gregory to follow suit.”

Mycroft struggled to keep a serious and determined look on his face as he plated Lestrade’s toast.  If he and Gregory had not begun to work through their particular issues, he not might feel the current bout of laughter trying to bubble up inside, but they _were_ making progress and he could, instead, take amusement from Arthur’s motherly finger-wagging.  With toast in one hand and a quickly poured dollop of coffee, Mycroft started towards Lestrade’s room, leaving behind him a fresh argument between Sherlock and Martin on the parameters for Arthur’s continued detective-assistant duties.  As he approached the bedroom door, Mycroft noticed that he had not fully closed it behind him when he exited and the resulting crack was sufficient to permit a small amount of reconnaissance before entering.  It would likely earn him a chiding if he were to interrupt something his ridiculous brother felt inappropriate for his eyes, so the spying was entirely warranted.

      “Well?  Verdict?”

      “You’re not dead.  What more do you want?”

      “A real report.  Come on, give me the story.  What I can expect t…too?”

      “How about a beer?”

      “That bad?”

Mycroft moved to stop the conversation, then held back because… it was something he wanted to hear, also, and he might not get the full story if he relied on his lover or medical staff to provide the answers.

      “No, not at all.  It obviously hasn’t fully sunk into that thick melon of yours, but just being alive is a goddam miracle after what you caught in the chest and all the other crap that followed.  Right now, you’re ahead of the curve, but you’ve got a long way to go.  First, there’s the basic healing and you’ve still got some work in that area to do.  Then, it’s build back up your strength and flexibility from being beat up and lazy.  At the moment, your tissues are knitting up and trying to make some good repairs, but there will be a worry for awhile that those repairs will hold properly, so that will restrict your movement.  And it’ll hurt to move much, as you’ve found out, so _don’t_ unless it’s me or John making you.”

      “Long term?”

      “Oh, so you want the whole enchilada… I get it.  Ok, provided you don’t do something stupid and reinjure yourself, throw a clot or get an infection or illness, I think you’ll make it through this early phase hunky dory.  But I’ll be honest with you, it’s going to take work to get your strength back and with all the cutting we had to do, those muscles are pretty compromised.  Not saying you won’t be your burly self again, but it’s an issue.  One of those lungs of yours got pretty torn up and that _could_ spell trouble for breathing later on.  You didn’t get a nice clean little small caliber hit, you caught two cannon shells in the chest and they did _not_ take pity on you.  There’s a host of other real and possible problems that could or could not show up, too, and we’ll have to deal with those as they come.  Best case, you’re almost exactly the person you were before except for a few pretty decorations across the front.  Worst case, you suffer a permanent disability, have a reduced quality of life and find a nice desk job.  Most likely… _most_ likely something closer to the top end of the scale, but not quite.”

      “H…how not quite.”

      “Think about a car that’s been totaled, because that’s you.  Even if they repair everything and get the clear coat all sparkly, it’s not the same car.  Maybe you can never say what it is, but there’s something not quite right about it.  It doesn’t do things like it did and you have to adjust for that.  Nothing major and nothing that even worries you, really, in the grand scheme, but you know it’s not _right_.  And it’s worse if it’s an old car, where things are already starting to feel not right on their own.  Now, does that mean it doesn’t run?  No.  Still got plenty of torque?  Yep.  Ready for the junkyard?  No.  Still a solid car that does its job?  Yep.  Maybe if you were a young fella who was still pounding the pavement and chasing down the bad guys on foot all day, I’d be worried, but sounds like you mix a lot of admin work in there already and have younger legs to do your running for you.  I don’t see it impacting your job, so long as you do the work ahead of time to get yourself as strong and able as you can.  It’s going to be hard, though, hard and frustrating and you _cannot_ give up or you’ll roll right back down the hill.  Work hard, be realistic - don’t expect you’ll be like you were before you caught those slugs.  You won’t.  But that doesn’t mean you’re down for the count.  Ok, come on in, Mycroft.  I’m done with the speechmaking.”

Infernal troll...

      “Gregory, I…”

Mycroft rushed over and set down his burdens, next taking a seat on the bed to begin soothing his agitated partner.

      “He’s doing fine, Mycroft.  For all meanings of ‘fine.’  You two need me, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Sam slowly walked out of the door, making sure Mycroft was firmly in command of things before letting his little brother alone with the can of worms that had been opened.  The worms definitely needed to come out, but it was never a pretty thing when it happened.

      “Gregory, my love, are you alright?”

      “I’m old and broken.  H…how do you think I am?”

      “You are not precisely either, as you well know.  I shall speak to Sherrinford and have him clarify his abysmal attempt at communication.”

      “No… look, don’t listen to me.  Just… I just need a moment to let things sink in.  And, actually, I understand what he was saying.  It makes sense and I get it.  It’s just… real now.  It makes s…sense, so it’s _real_.  I can’t ignore things anymore because I don’t know or understand.”

Regardless, Mycroft was still displeased with his brother’s carelessness.  Sherrinford should _not_ have been so forthcoming at this point.  There was already too much for the Detective Inspector to manage without having the unvarnished truth of his condition paraded in front of his eyes.

      “It’s… it’s good, though.”

      “Good?”

      “Yeah, it is.  On average, I have to say, it’s good.  I know what to expect.  What to work for.  Things won’t be the same, b…but they won’t be a disaster, either.  And I can probably get back on the job.  Not the ‘oh I _hope_ I can be on the job’ but I really could, just a little less active about things.  Sam laid it out the right way for me and… I can live with it.  I can be the crashed car.  I know what he means and I can handle that.  It makes sense.  I t…took a turn there for a moment, but it’s ok now.  I _get_ it.”

Mycroft was still not pleased, but his lover was smiling and that would suffice for the time being.  There would be words, however, between him and his uncouth sibling.  Honesty was well and good but there was a proper way to apply it and he would not allow his Gregory to suffer his brother’s complete lack of social awareness.  Either brother’s, for that matter.

      “Then I am content.  It was not so dire a prognosis as it could be, I suppose.”

      “No, it wasn’t.  I think… I think I got my hopes up a little because I did something new.”

      “As well you should.  It was quite the achievement, in addition to our small interlude.  We mustn’t forget that bit of exertion on your part either.”

And now his lover was laughing and Mycroft felt he could relax.  Scattered emotions… not atypical for what John had described, but it was upsetting nonetheless.  Anything that distressed his partner was upsetting and he was committed to minimizing the amount of stress Lestrade suffered.

      “No, that bit won’t be forgotten.  That was marvelous!  And you brought me breakfast in bed.  It’s the best d…date I ever had!”

      “And I shall delight in raising the bar for our next romantic encounter.  Are you ready for your meal?”

      “Absolutely.  Pizza tonight?”

      “I believe the answer is no.”

      “I’ll ask Sam.  He’ll probably let me have it.”

Unfortunately, Mycroft thought, there was more than a small possibility that statement was true.

      “Let us see how you fare with toast before you leap into a more complex level of cuisine.”

      “It’s a step, though… right?”

      “It is most certainly a step.  In one thing Sherrinford was correct… we feared greatly we would lose you, my dear, and our fears were well-founded.  That you can nibble a bit of toast is a milestone that I shall in no manner belittle.”

      “Next step, pizza.  And beer.  And dancing.”

      “We shall discuss it when I return this evening, so do pay me the courtesy of saving those momentous steps for my presence.”

      “Beer and pizza I can’t promise, but dancing we’re good on.”

      “Excellent.  Always the soul of compromise.”

__________

      “Something smells interesting.”

      “Doctor Sam!  The doughnuts are just ready!  And I found some meat just for you.  I’m not quite sure what it is, but I fried it, too, in little strips, since I already had the oil hot, so you can have fried meat and doughnuts!”

      “That’s stick to the ribs food if I ever heard it.  Now, for your next amazing adventure, you can make chicken and waffles.”

Martin thought Arthur was cute as a button when he got lightning-struck by a new idea.

      “That Is Brilliant!  I’m putting chicken on my errand list!”

      “And it’s fried chicken, so you can use your oil again.”

      “Doctor Sam, you are amazing.  Oh, and Doctor Watson’s here, too!  Hurray, breakfast can start!”

John gently, but pointedly pushed his ‘friend’ out of the kitchen door and shambled to the kettle.  He wasn’t quite awake enough for a polite ‘excuse me.’

      “Oh crap it’s a loose zombie.  Sherlock, did you forget to lock the zombie pen again.”

John’s answer was not verbalized, but Sam was fairly certain he correctly interpreted the hand motion, having seen it enough times from his colleague.

      “John had a vigorous night and is still suffering the effects; however, he _is_ rather zombie-like before he had his morning tea on any given day.”

Sherlock got his own morning hello with the same gesture Sam received and the detective responded by shoving a chair out from the breakfast table so John could have a seat.

      “Sherlock and Arthur are going on an errand adventure and perhaps find a case to work on.  It’s just going to be me, you and Sam to keep Greg under control.”

John stared at Martin, then turned and stared at Sherlock.

      “Arthur and I are busy men and stagnating here is diminishing our mental capacities.”

      “Case?”

      “If one is presented.  I shall, though, hold an especially graphic one aside for you, John.”

      “Martin, you agreed to this?”

      “What?  Arthur’s a free man.  If he wants to go run around London with Sherlock, then that’s his choice.  I just hope he consults with me before he starts sewing his crimefighter costume.”

      “Silly Skipper… I don’t have my sewing machine!  Though Mycroft could probably get me a sewing machine… and Mr. Sherlock and I will have to pass a fabric shop at some point today…”

      “I am not stopping to purchase fabric.”

      “Then how can I make my costume?”

      ‘Do you have a design prepared?”

      “No, Mr. Sherlock, I must admit that I don’t.”

      “Then a purchase of materials is premature.   Now, may we eat so that we may leave?  If I am very lucky, I can avoid seeing Mycroft again and that would count as a highlight for the day.”

Sam took the seat next to Sherlock, leaned over, and swatted him on the back of the head.

      “Be nice, you prick.”

      “Ummmmm….. no.”

      “God, you’re a baby.”

      “Were that the case, John would have to tend to my hygiene and feeding.”

      “You mean like he already does?”

      “I am wasting no further breath on you.”

      “Good, it stinks anyway.”

      “I do not have halitosis.”

      “Denial is not a breath freshener.”

      “Here, Mr. Sherlock, breathe on me and I’ll tell you if it smells bad or not.”

      “Arthur, I am not going to breathe on you.”

      “Then breathe on Skip.”

      “He is not breathing on me!”

      “I am not breathing on him!”

      “Oh, for fuck’s sake.  Why did I even get up this morning?”

      “Because you were feeling unpleasantly sticky from our numerous bouts of sex last night.”

      “Details!”

      “Bugger off, Sam.”

Mycroft forestalled walking into the kitchen, mostly from fear he would get drawn into the lively conversation for he was already going to be tardy to his first appointment.  It was going to be a trying day as it was, and compounding it with a heartfelt apology for his lateness was not going to improve matters.  Instead, he retrieved a stack of necessary papers from his study and quietly left the house, pausing only to give one final kiss to his partner, who made a truly valiant effort at prolonging his stay at home.  Into his mind went a mental note to set his alarm earlier once Lestrade had recuperated somewhat to allow more time for morning indulgences.

__________

Arthur burst into the house with such energy that everyone in Lestrade’s room jumped in their chairs.

      “This was the best day ever!”

While the betting pool started on what was special about Arthur’s day, the steward ran to the kitchen, then to his bedroom depositing bags of his purchases and nearly mowed over Sherlock while running to Lestrade’s room when he was done.

      “Greg!  Skip!  Doctor Watson!  Doctor Sam!  Guess what?”

      “You had the best day ever?”

      “YES!  How could you tell?”

Lestrade looked between the other three men and started laughing.

      “It was a lucky guess, Arthur.  Now, do we get the details?”

      “Oh yes!  First we started out at this wonderful shop that sells knives…”

Arthur began a very spirited description of their day, with Sherlock only interjecting when Arthur needed an insertion of vocabulary.  John motioned Sherlock to take a seat next to him and gave the detective a large smile as he accepted the chair.  Such an unlikely friendship, but it was obvious that his partner cared for the joyful Arthur and John adored Sherlock all the more for it.

      “And we solved a case!”

Now, all eyes moved from Arthur to Sherlock, who glared back at the very unwanted attention.

      “It was brilliant!  The case of the missing body!”

Now it was _widened_ eyes staring at Sherlock, who waved them off with an imperious flick of his hand.

      “The body in question was inanimate.”

      “It was a shop body!”

      “Arthur, love, that makes no sense.”

      “It was a mannequin.”

      “That’s what I said, Mr. Sherlock – a shop body.  One of the bodies they put in shops.  You see, we stopped by Greg’s office… GREG!  Your office is brilliant!... and Mr. Sherlock got them to give us a case and it was about a body that went missing and we found it!”

      “Arthur was instrumental in bringing the perpetrator to justice.”

Lestrade shook his head to make sure he was hearing things clearly.

      “Wait a minute… do you mean that mannequin that went missing from the dress shop about… oh, nearly a year ago?  We get a call from the owner at least twice a month asking for an update!”

      “Hence the reason it was passed along to Arthur and me.  Unsurprisingly, we were able to affect a solution in only a few hours.  And Arthur proved himself, once again, to be a stellar evaluator of the human condition.”

      “Yes!  When I saw a picture of the body, it was wearing a pretty dress and I said that it looked like a lovely doll and maybe someone stole it because they liked dolls and this one was really especially nice because her hair was very cute and she had pretty make-up and Mr. Sherlock got that look on his face which means he’s thought of something and off we went!”

Sam burst out laughing and had to hold his side to keep himself from tearing open his stitches again.

      “How many sex shops did you have to visit?”

John and Lestrade groaned in understanding, but Martin just blushed both from not understanding and knowing that if he did, he’d likely be blushing anyway.

      “A few.  While I interviewed the proprietors, Arthur investigated nearby businesses in case we might be off the mark.”

The older men released an in-unison sigh of relief that Arthur hadn’t been dragged into places Arthur Shappey should never be dragged into and John and Lestrade, especially, patted themselves on the back that Sherlock’s awareness was definitely improving.

      “But we weren’t!  Mr. Sherlock found someone who said they had a customer that really wanted a doll, a very nice doll, but couldn’t afford a very nice doll, not that they had that kind of doll anyway, but they had left their phone number in case they could buy a doll and Mr. Sherlock got it and then called Greg’s friends, who gave us an address and we did a little spying, which really isn’t nice but neither is stealing and there she was!  Sitting on the sofa watching the telly.  Then Mr. Sherlock called Greg’s friends again and they came and got the doll back and I think the poor man might be going to jail.  The terrible thing was, though, he was very sad about Greg’s friends taking away his doll.  He cried and I looked for a handkerchief to give him, but I couldn’t find one.  But, that’s another big case I’ve helped with in London!”

Arthur launched into a spirited victory dance and Martin let him wriggle a few moments before grabbing the steward’s shirt and tugging him down into a chair to rest.

      “I’m proud of you, love.  Any more of this and Greg will be out of a job.”

      “And thank you for it!  I can retire early and just watch telly all day.  Even got my own doll to watch with, though my doll’s a bear, which is lots better.”

      “Yeah, but that guy’s doll hosed down easier.”

      “You just can’t be around decent people, can you, you bastard.”

      “That’s Doctor Bastard to you, Senor Near Death.”

      “I THINK that in honor of Arthur and Sherlock’s grand success, a celebration is called for.  Who’s for hot food delivered conveniently to our door?”

      “That’s a great idea, Doctor Watson!  I actually don’t have time to really cook something nice since it’s already a bit late.”

      “Then you and Martin take food detail and the rest of us will figure out if we want a film or a game.”

      “Brilliant!  A detective film might be fun.  I’m feeling very detectivey at the moment.”

Arthur jumped back up and, dragging Martin along, raced out to prowl through the take-away menu stack he’d been compiling.

      “So, you two visited the Yard?  Any news?”

Sherlock peered over at Lestrade and shrugged.

      “Only that Detective Inspector Lestrade was grievously injured in the course of a government action and lay near death until very recently.  Or something along those lines, I was failing utterly to pay attention.”

Lestrade yelped as he twisted to get a better look at Sherlock, pulling both John and Sam out of their chairs to check for signs of damage.

      “They know?”

      “As of today.  I reminded Mycroft that he had yet to distribute news of your situation and he remedied the action.  I do recall some form of gossip about a lack of knowledge of your current whereabouts, so I would not expect a troupe of well-wishers to arrive tonight, but I believe Mycroft is expecting you to make the first move in notifying them that contact can be made.”

      “Well, that’ll be the first thing I do tomorrow.  It’ll be great to get some news from the front line.”

      “Kindly notify me when this will occur so I am not present to bear witness.  It is difficult enough to be in this mausoleum without the added insult of an infiltration of London’s most useless law enforcement pretenders.”

It was John who swatted Sherlock this time and the detective pulled himself into a sulk, making sure first to steal the remote control so he had final say on the night’s viewing entertainment.

      “You’re on your way, Greggy pie.  Ready for the real world again?”

      “More ready than you know, Sam.  Bring it on.”

      “That’s my boy.”

__________

Mycroft Holmes was often an unhappy man.   Often an angry man.  A disappointed, exhausted, and  frustrated man.  And all were in play tonight.  How was it that those charged with guiding the world’s population were the least equipped to do so?  Without his immediate and personal intervention, several foolish governments were going to make some extremely poor decisions and the possible spillover could not be tolerated.  It was only because he absolutely refused to make an emergency trip without telling his lover the news face to face that he was not already on a plane.

As the middle Holmes entered his house, he had no difficulty locating the other inhabitants as the laughter was easily followed to Lestrade’s room.  What he found when he opened the door, however, did not help to lift his black mood.

      “Gregory, what are you doing?”

All eyes turned to Mycroft, who was watching his love pushing a piece of pizza into his mouth.

      “M’etin pzza.”

      “How can this possibly be wise… and is that beer?”

The bright smile and nod should have raised his spirits, but served only to anger him further since his idiot of a brother was smiling, too.

      “Just a teensy bit as part of the celebration, Mycroft.  Nothing to worry about.”

In that Sherrinford was incorrect.  There was a great deal to worry about, especially under these circumstances.

      “I do not agree.  Gregory’s recovery, from your own words, is only in its youthful stage and this cannot be helpful, especially with his recent exertions.”

John moved to step in, but Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder to hold him back.

      “Look, it was a big day and a few sips of beer and half a fucking slice of cheese pizza isn’t going to hurt him.  Lighten up.”

      “That shall not be occurring.”

      “Goddam it, Mycie, you act like we don’t know what we’re doing.”

      “In John, I have full faith.  The same cannot be said for you.”

Not even Arthur was prepared to break the tense silence that followed Mycroft’s pronouncement.

      “Excuse me?”

      “I think I must ask you to leave, Sherrinford.  I must depart within the hour and shall be gone for several days, at least.  At this juncture, I cannot be assured that without my vigilance, Gregory’s health is safe so long as you are charged with a portion of his care.  And though I am confident in John’s abilities, I am _more_ confident in your talent for circumventing his abilities and good judgment.  While I am absent, so must you be.”

Sam slowly rose and moved to stand nose to nose with his brother and Lestrade wished more than anything that this was a fight he could get in between.  As it was, all he could do was watch the explosion and hope they could find all the limbs afterwards.

      “You don’t trust me?”

      “That goes, I believe, without saying.”

      “You think I would do something, _anything_ , to compromise my patient’s welfare?  Especially _that_ patient!”

      “Your behavior has never been less than chaotic and I cannot allow that when I am not readily available to intervene.  You will leave.”

      “I would never, ever, do anything to hurt Greg.  Or you!  How can you think for one moment…”

      “Because I _am_ thinking.  If you wish it said plainly, then so be it.  I do not trust you, Sherrinford.  You have proven that you cannot be counted upon to make decisions about which I approve and I will not allow Gregory’s well-being to be compromised by your excesses and the poor choices to which they lead.”

      “I can’t believe this… not this.  Sherlock!  You want to add anything?”

John shot the detective a look, but Sherlock’s eyes were fixed on his older siblings.

      “My feelings on the issue are not relevant.  If Mycroft wants you to leave, he will not hesitate to have you removed.  The only choice at the moment is whether you wish to walk or be carried out the front door.”

Arthur’s shaky ‘no!’ was soft, but sounded like a scream in the small room.  John wanted to punch his partner, but could not deny what Sherlock said was absolutely true and when Sam finally broke eye contact with Mycroft and cast a glance at his youngest brother, John could see that Sam knew that, too.

      “Fine.  John, sorry about this, since it’s on your head now.  Greg, take care of yourself.  Arthur take care of everyone and Martin, make sure he takes care of himself, too.  Sherlock… don’t do anything stupid, ok?  Mycroft… you’re wrong.  You’re dead wrong and I hope one day you realize that.”

Sam left without another word, slowly and painfully, to collect his few things and Mycroft summoned a car to drive him back to his flat.

      “Mycroft… that was… that was very mean, actually.”

Arthur’s voice was unsteady and Mycroft refused to give it any thought or he might change his mind and that was something he could not do.  The only important thing was Gregory’s health and his ridiculous excuse for a brother could return to continue his disastrous attempt at medicine when the homeowner was again home.

      “I’m sorry, Arthur, but it is a prudent decision at this time.  Gregory, my dear, I must hurry, but I could not leave without bidding you farewell in person.  It shall not be more than a week, I am highly confident, and I would not leave you like this if it were not completely unavoidable.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Mycroft walked forward and placed a kiss on Lestrade’s forehead, studiously ignoring what was unmistakably anger on the man’s face.

      “Goodbye, Gregory.  I will, as they say, make this up to you when I return.  I love you, my dear.  Too much to easily express.”

Before anyone could comment, Mycroft hastened out of the room, quickly moving to his bedroom to avoid another encounter with Sherrinford.  The idiot.  Had he no caution?  A scant few bites of toast and then... no.  Gregory could too easily sway his brother into agreeing to things which were not advisable and that could not be tolerated.  If Sherry wished to uptake the issue later, they could discuss it at length, but for now, his presence was not acceptable.

A few seconds into his packing, Mycroft heard Sherrinford’s halting footsteps moving towards the entranceway and in another few seconds, the front door open and close.  A rapid gathering of a selection of personal items and some documents from his study and Mycroft was also out the door, deciding against making another goodbye to the members of the household, whose low, muttering voices he heard as he paused by Lestrade’s door.  They were not happy with his decision and, in truth, he could not blame them, but it was his responsibility to keep his lover safe and that was a responsibility he would never shirk.

__________

Six days… it had been six days of grueling negotiations, fueled purely by caffeine and the hyperawareness from lack of sleep.  He had been able to send out regular messages to Lestrade, and had not received any notifications of home-based crises, but had not even a moment to take to his phone and converse with his Detective Inspector.  Fortunately, it was relatively rare that the level of an emergency require that he devote this level of intervention towards its resolution and he would not often be so entirely separated from his home and family, both of which loomed in the distance as the car approached his residence.  And there was just enough time left in the day that he could catch up on any news and events before retiring.  Arthur must have a wealth of stories to share and Gregory… there was no urge in him so great as the desire to be with his Gregory.  Hold his hand while they visited as a family, then shoo away everyone, so he could take his place in Gregory’s bed and reconnect on a physical as well as emotional level.

Mycroft was out of the car nearly before it came to a stop and left his bag for the driver to deliver inside.  It was not appropriate to call what he was doing sprinting, but rapid walking would not be out of bounds and he was across his threshold in record time, striding forward into… a very quiet home.  It was not what he was expecting, but he had also not telegraphed his arrival, so it was with only a tiny bit of curiosity that he turned towards Lestrade’s room, tapped on the door and peeked inside.

      “Mycroft?”

Seeing his love’s smile erased the past week’s frustrations and Mycroft moved fully into the room, nodding at John, who sat next to the bed.

      “Gregory… how I have missed you.”

And how terribly he had missed his lover’s kiss, which he now sampled, in earnest.  Something settled comfortably in his chest and Mycroft could now fully say he was home.

      “And John, how has Gregory fared?”

      “Good.  No problems.  He’s been up on his feet a little more without any trouble.  I was actually going to start him on a few more exercises tomorrow.”

      “Excellent!  Oh, my dear… you have no idea how difficult it was to be away.  I apologize for being out of communication, but I did try to at least let you know I had not forgotten you.  You did receive my messages, didn’t you?”

      “Yeah, they came through.  And I missed you too, love.  More than you can imagine.  You back for good?”

      “Absolutely.  And I do not foresee another trip in the near future, though, in truth, I cannot always predict when they will become necessary.”

      “Yeah, I understand that.”

Mycroft could not put his finger on the reason, but there was something amiss in his Gregory’s and John’s behavior.  They lacked… spirit.  Perhaps it was simply a tiring day.

      “And the others?  Are they out for the evening?”

Now Mycroft’s alarms were shrieking at top volume.  The worried frown on the Detective Inspector’s lips matched the good doctor’s and a cold finger began to stir the contents of Mycroft’s stomach.

      “Sherlock’s at the flat doing an experiment.  Arthur and Martin… went back to Fitton.”

The punch of John’s words hit Mycroft hard and he found his hand reaching for a chair to steady himself.

      “What?  Why would they leave?  I cannot believe Arthur would agree to leave without saying farewell.”

Again, John and Lestrade shared a troubled look and Mycroft suddenly did not want to know any answers to his questions.

      “Arthur was upset and Martin decided it was best they go.  They… they went to Sam’s flat to visit and… well, it’d been cleaned out.  Sam’s gone.  There was a note left behind, but Arthur wouldn’t let anyone see it.  Martin got the plane ready and they left the next day.  They’re ok, though… Arthur’s been calling regularly, but he’s still very upset by it all and I think he keeps hoping when he calls that we have good news for him.”

Lestrade tried to reach over to Mycroft, but had to shove over in the bed and tap his hand on the mattress to get Mycroft’s attention.

      “I’m sorry, love.  You don’t know how sorry I am.”

      “Sherlock’s taking it hard, too.  I fairly sure he feels guilty that he didn’t… we don’t need to talk about that now.  Look, I’ll leave you two alone, ok?  Greg, I’ll be within shouting distance.”

John hurried out and decided that a call to his own Holmes wasn’t a bad idea.  And reminding him that he _did_ need to sleep, also wasn’t a bad idea.  That there was a warm bed waiting for him was a very not bad idea.  Especially since Sherlock hadn’t remembered that much since Sam had disappeared.

      “Gregory?”

      “Come here, love.”

Mycroft toed off his shoes, then, carefully sat on the edge of Lestrade’s bed.

      “This is my fault, Gregory.”

      “Let’s not talk about it tonight, what say?  You must be tired after your trip.”

      “But it _is_ my fault.”

      “And we can talk about it tomorrow.  How about you get that suit off and put that gorgeous body into something comfortable and we can relax for awhile.  I’ll put on some of that classical music you enjoy and we can read or something.  Chatting or reading while propped up in bed… if that’s not classic couple’s behavior, I don’t know what is.”

      “I… I don’t know if I can.”

Lestrade ran a hand along Mycroft’s back and wished he had something comforting to say to the man.

      “Then _I’ll_ watch a film or read and you can just rest.  Talk a nice lie down right on me and let your brain be quiet for awhile.  Think you can do that?”

      “Perhaps.”

      “Ok then.  I love you, Mycroft and I promise you, we’ll figure all this out, alright?”

No.  No, it wasn’t alright.  He’d broken his family; what could be right about that?

      “Stop thinking.  Just come here and we’ll have a little cuddle.  Plenty of time to talk tomorrow.”

Lestrade touched a few buttons on his remote and one of Mycroft’s favorite symphonies began to play on the sound system.  With an encouraging smile, he pressed against Mycroft’s back to get the man moving to prepare himself for bed and felt a harsh ache at how his partner’s movements were devoid of his usual control and grace.  This was not going to be easy, but since when _had_ anything with them been easy…


End file.
